A Little Life Less Ordinary
by SmilinStar
Summary: “You’re pregnant,” he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly HouseCuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .
1. Chapter 1

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **I have no idea what possessed me to write for House, M.D. This is my first attempt ever to write something for this fandom. And so if it sucks, please let me know; I won't darken your doorways (computer screens) again.

**Part One**

_In which the discovery is made . . . _

**.: Chapter One :.**

He should have known. There was no better clue than the fact that the door was undoubtedly locked. Adding that to the clear view of her eerily empty office; House hadn't really needed to ask secretary number 356 where their industrious boss was. Not here, was the obvious answer, but yet the words still came tumbling out of his mouth,

"Where is she?" The question sounded distinctly like a gruff bark. He was on his last vicodin – he needed no better explanation than that.

Secretary number 356 turned an unearthly shade of green, clashing quite wonderfully with his very metro-sexual flowery pink shirt and snazzy white tie. Come to think of it, House mused silently to himself, this guy could probably give Chase a run for his money in the prize for the most colour-blind wombat of the year.

"She's gone home," spluttered the Aussie. Another Aussie, just like he'd predicted. Good lord, Princeton Plainsboro was going to be overrun with them, and at the rate Cuddy was hiring them would soon turn into a fully fledged antipodean colony. He was going to have to grill her on her soon to be spiralling out of control fetish.

"When?" he asked.

The guy looked like he was about seconds away from peeing his pants – if he hadn't already.

"Two hours ago," he managed to somehow spit out.

Funny how a crippled guy at least twenty years his senior could scare the holy crap out of him. Secretary number 356 had in fact been warned by his predecessor, secretary number 355, to beware the madman with the almighty stick of intimidation. He'd laughed it off, with a roll of the eyes and a disbelieving snort.

Now he feared he'd never be able to roll his eyes again; what with them being three inches out of their sockets. Any further and his eyes would permanently stay in that position – as if someone had quite intentionally hit him round the back of the head with a frying pan. Further ponderation would probably result in the conclusion that House's cane would do the job just as effectively, if not better.

"Why?" House asked, his blue eyes burning holes through his forehead.

"I'm not sure," he said, and then thinking better of his answer, he changed his mind a split second later, "she said she wasn't feeling well."

He feared the worst when House's eyes glazed over, but then the unexpected happened. Eyes flicking very briefly to her empty office, House turned away. Hobbling towards the glass doors, he offered no other abrupt question and limped out into the clinic.

Secretary number 356 released the breath he was well aware he'd been holding and promptly turned to his computer to type his letter of resignation.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sound of the bike's engine died down as he turned the key in the ignition.

He argued he was curious. All men of medicine were. You were in the wrong profession if you weren't. He therefore didn't bother to entertain the prospect that he was maybe a little, even if unwillingly, concerned.

Finding himself once again at her front door, he lifted his cane and rapped hard once against the wood.

Nothing happened. Either Cuddy didn't hear him or she was ignoring him. Neither option was attractive.

He tried again; a little more insistently this time. By that phrase of words, that meant continuously for the next two minutes. Cuddy either had the patience to rival Mother Theresa's or she'd gone deaf in the space of three hours. It was neither, as House suddenly found the front door being opened with such brute, he nearly stumbled backward with surprise.

"What?"

Hair frizzy, cheeks flaming, chest heaving and eyes a suspiciously swollen red, House found himself clamouring silently for words. Preferably the right words in the right order.

"That how you always welcome your guests, Cuddy?"

"I must have missed hospitality 101, what do you want House?"

Ignoring the question, he said, "I certainly hope not. How on earth did you get a job running a _hospital _then?"

Not bothering with a display of her usual impatience, she repeated the question, "What do you want House?"

"Tea," House smiled, although it was more smirk than actual smile. He didn't wait for Cuddy's response as he barraged past her and into her home uninvited.

Cuddy mouthed a silent "tea?" incredulously behind him as she shut her door. He _hated_ tea.

It seemed House hadn't been kidding. Limping his way through her home like it was his own; he found her kitchen with ease and promptly started raiding the kitchen cupboards for teabags.

Sighing, for she had no energy left to roll her eyes, she poured water into the kettle and left it to boil.

Of course it just so happened that House hadn't in fact been after tea. He was in search of evidence; and the lack of caffeine be it in teabags or coffee beans was all the evidence he needed.

"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth.

Cuddy's mouth had opened of its own volition; realising House had yet to see her expression, she snapped it shut pronto.

"For the five hundredth time, House, I'm not pregnant." The words rolled off her tongue easily. Months of spouting that same sentence and the muscles in her mouth had morphed into an automaton. It was an impressively executed believable lie – not that she knew it herself. She'd all but given up on trying to become a mother, and so she had believed those words would forever remain the unvarnished truth; no matter how much she wished for the contrary.

It figured that House would work it out before her.

Oddly, House's smirk had disappeared as he turned to face her.

She was stood by the small kitchen breakfast table; one hand resting against the backrest of one of the wooden chairs. Her fingers were twitching to an unheard beat. The movement was so slight, that the small indication of her agitation was almost entirely missable. But House had noticed. Just like he had noticed a lot of things in the last two weeks.

Without fail, every day on the hour, she would manage to drink her way through four cups of coffee until lunch. House had wondered whether the caffeine would kill her liver before the vicodin would kill his. The odds were surprisingly closer than one would think. The sudden disappearance of those hourly coffee breaks, after the rather comical sight of her screwing her nose up in disgust at the smell of freshly ground coffee beans one morning, had been no coincidence. Neither had been the gradually increasing piles of food stacked on to her lunch tray. He'd made the obligatory glib comment about eating for two, to which Cuddy had replied with a disturbingly earnest, "I wish."

There of course were the more, should he say, _aesthetically_ pleasing changes one normally associated with a woman with child. But despite spending more time than usual to scrutinise Cuddy's bosom; it seemed she continued to remain inexplicably oblivious.

It wasn't the fact she was pregnant that intrigued him but more the fact she had yet to realise it herself. It was also, however unlikely, possible that she was in denial. He was well aware she'd miscarried before. The primal human mechanisms to protect itself from hurt would forever be bubbling under the surface, never mind how much the homo sapien evolved.

He smiled that same infuriating knowing smile. He was rewarded with another, "I'm not pregnant," ground out between her teeth.

He didn't reply with the obvious, "Yes you are." It seemed a little redundant; she would only retort with the words, "No I'm not," and therein would begin the five year olds' vicious circle of screwed up logic.

Instead, he turned abruptly, and headed without a word towards her bathroom.

Cuddy followed, exasperatedly behind him. Her eyes widened with surprise and fast igniting fury as she watched House, with a blatant disregard for her privacy, rummage through her bathroom cabinet.

"House! You can't just-"

Her words were cut off as she just narrowly missed being hit by the flying box of super absorbent tampons that he had thrown over his shoulder.

"House!"

"Here we are," he turned around, grinning. In his hand he held a pregnancy test kit. The last of the small stock she had accumulated. She had carried out so many of the stupid tests; she'd thought she had wiped the pharmacy clear of all its supplies.

Her face had turned a rather spectacular shade of red. House couldn't quite distinguish whether the plum red tomato look was the result of sheer embarrassment or anger – the pointed glare she had directed his way made him more inclined to go with the latter.

"One way to find out," he said, opening the box and offering her the little white stick he'd found inside. The unneeded white sheet of instructions fluttered silently on to the floor.

"No!" Cuddy yelled, "I'm not taking a test just to satisfy your curiosity, no."

"Come on, Cuddy, I dare you."

Her eyes widened further, if that were even possible, "What are you? Five? I said no!"

"So you're not even just a little curious," House said, his mouth twisting into a subtle smirk, his blue eyes laughing at her, "Unless you're scared."

She spluttered a little, "I'm not scared, I just fail to see the point in wasting a perfectly good pregnancy test."

"What this little thing," he waved the white stick around, "Come on, can't cost much. I'll tell you what; if it's negative I'll buy you another one."

"No," Cuddy repeated, "I'm not taking the damn test." And that seemed to be final, as she spun on her heels and walked out of the bathroom, leaving House to stare at her disappearing back.

It didn't take him long to hobble out after her – his mind swimming simultaneous laps; not knowing what to do with this new piece of information, for her reaction undoubtedly confirmed his long standing suspicion that she really was scared. It was either the prospect of not being pregnant and another, however small, flame of hope being extinguished, or it was the prospect of being pregnant and the fear of miscarrying for a second time.

"I'll do an extra week of clinic," he said.

She stopped in her tracks.

"Why is this so important to you?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Doesn't bother me either way, like you say, I'm just curious."

"Haven't struck up a little bet with Wilson?"

He feigned hurt, "How could you think I'd do something like that?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips; it didn't escape House's notice.

"Two weeks."

"One and a half."

"Two."

"Fine. Two weeks. Now go pee on the damn stick."

She grabbed the plastic stick from his hand and walked past him back towards her bathroom.

"Need me to hold your hand?" he called out after her.

She let out a small chuckle, which was followed by the sound of the bathroom door shutting and being locked.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He wondered around her front room; pulling out books from the shelves, staring at photographs of unknown Cuddy relatives, half watching the second hand on the wall clock – his mind far too occupied with thoughts of his dark haired boss currently sat on the toilet lid staring at her future. He would have laughed at the ludicrousness of the synonymity of the words 'future' and 'pee covered plastic stick,' but that was the joys of modern medicine.

He had no idea why this mattered to him so much, if it at all. After all, she wasn't pregnant with his kid. Treacherous thoughts argued that's exactly what it was, but before he could thankfully analyse it any further, he heard the bathroom door creak open.

He waited.

And sure enough she appeared. With her teeth biting down on her lower lip, hand carrying the test limply by her side, and face a ghostly white, she opened her mouth to speak.

Voice hoarse, the words were those he had expected all along.

"I'm pregnant."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Please review and let me know what you thought; I've been in two conflicting minds about posting this and so feedback would be greatly appreciated.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Wow! Thank you so much for all the positive encouragement! I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter uploaded, but it had to go through a number of re-writes. I hope it satisfies. Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

**.: Chapter Two :.**

With his hand firmly on his wooden aide, and the bottom of the cane pressed against the glass door, House pushed hard. The door opened with surprising ease, and he almost stumbled through,

"Ten year old boy comes in with a runny nose and a pathetic cough," he shouted into the room, knowing full well his team would already be there, scattered about, each sulking in their own unique way.

Sure enough, Cameron was stirring a fresh coffee with an obvious lack of gusto, Foreman was sat at the table glaring daggers, whilst Chase he was sure had been fast asleep before he'd scared the living daylights out of him with his noisy entrance.

They didn't disappoint in their response either.

"You're kidding right?" Foreman scoffed, arms folded across his chest as he looked up at House with characteristic impatience.

House stopped and turned to face him, both hands on his cane, his expression the embodiment of seriousness, "Uh, do I look like I'm kidding?"

Chase was apparently awake enough to add his two cents, "You want us to do a differential on a common cold?" The incredulity was finely displayed; the intensivist's eyes wide, mouth half open – nothing House hadn't expected.

He rolled his eyes, "Now did I say that? Kid's also pooping blood and hasn't got a clue who daddy dearest is."

"And you think the two are related?" Cameron asked coffee in hand as she slid on to the remaining empty chair around the table.

"Could be a perforated stomach or duodenal ulcer," Chase supplied.

"Gastric ulcers are unlikely for someone of that age, and how would that cause amnesia?" Foreman countered.

Chase shrugged his shoulders.

"Like I said," Cameron stressed the next word, "unrelated."

"Severe blood loss could cause hypovolaemia, reduced blood flow to the brain resulting in confusion, temporarily messing with memory function," Chase explained.

"Long shot," Foreman sighed, "if he's been bleeding out from this ulcer long enough to reduce blood flow to the brain, he should be unconscious – they've got to be unrelated symptoms."

Meanwhile, House was leaning up against the wall, his head moving in an exaggerated fashion from one doctor to the other as if watching a three way tennis match. Having had enough of being ignored, he shouted, "Okay people, here's what you're gonna do."

Three heads turned simultaneously, staring at him expectantly.

Waving his hands in front of him as if shooing off unwanted visitors to his imaginary backyard, he said, "go run some blood works, get a CT scan of his brain, and Chase do an endoscopy of his GI tract."

The three doctors walked out the room, though one lingered slightly longer than the others.

House, inwardly sighed. He really wasn't in the caring and sharing type of mood, not that he usually was anyway.

"Dr Cameron," he said, pausing dramatically, "something wrong?"

"The boy's symptoms aren't anything out of the ordinary; I don't understand why you've taken the case."

"Well luckily," House replied, "You were fortunate enough to get through a medical course that didn't require you understood the complex and convoluted way in which the brain of your superior works; instead you learnt how to carry out the menial, but infinitely more useful, task of taking blood."

Cameron continued to stare at the older man, eyes wider than normal with a bewildered expression.

House rolled his eyes, and pointed his cane emphatically in the direction of the door.

Getting his succinctly expressed message, she turned around and headed out of the room.

Shaking his head softly once, he turned to enter his adjoining office. The glass door shut soundlessly behind him as he made his way over to his desk. Sitting down he grabbed the ball from off his desk, throwing it up and down as he sat there staring at the wall in front of him.

His leg was throbbing, the pain a little more intense than normal. Fishing out his tablets, he popped the lid with a single thumb and practised ease. Shaking out two of the white powdery tablets, he expertly dry swallowed them in one gulp.

He didn't have to look up to know that he was no longer alone in his solitude. Her perfume gave her away before her unusually dulcet tones had.

"You're supposed to be in the clinic." Those words were normally screamed at him, but never with such unfathomable calmness and quiet.

House studied her. Dressed in a blinding red skirt suit, her arms folded tightly across her chest, she stared down at him; weariness floating off of her in waves. He noticed with some disappointment the done top button of her shirt. Shame.

"Dr Cuddy," he pronounced, standing up whilst simultaneously reaching for his cane. "I was just on my way down there now."

Cuddy would have snorted if it wasn't so unladylike, add that to her lack of energy, and all she managed was a non-committal, "Of course you were."

House feigned a hurt expression, he'd honed that particular expression to near perfection; "You don't believe me?"

Cuddy almost smiled, but caught herself, "No, not really."

He shouldn't have been surprised by the turn in her demeanour. Not yesterday had she been screaming apocalypse about his little stunt that had resulted in the MRI machine having to be put out of service for at least three days. He hadn't meant to throw the magnets in a tizzy over a tiny little titanium screw hidden in the poor unlucky soul's soft tissue from surgery nearly twenty five years ago. He'd of course pointed the finger in Chase's direction, "Can't even take a history," he'd complained to Cuddy. His attempt to shift the blame only backfired and he was met with a tirade lasting nearly an hour.

"The patient's family are suing; the MRI's going to take days to fix, which means more furious patients and growing bills, not just of the legal kind . . ."

He'd tuned out around this point, deeming it more appropriate to appreciate the eye-pleasing changes in appearance which endowed an enraged Cuddy.

Hormones were definitely underrated little chemicals.

It seemed her energy had been exhausted yesterday, leaving only an outer shell to replace his usually fearless boss. He could however work around her change in temperament to his favour – after all he had not been dubbed 'the manipulative bastard' unsubstantiated.

"I am a man of my words," he said, standing to his full, intimidating height.

Cuddy was unperturbed, scoffing, she said, "Three days and you're already hiding. Though, I would have thought you'd try somewhere more original than sulking in your office. I hear you haven't visited coma guy in quite a while."

"Conversation's not as interesting as it used to be."

"And I suppose, a brick wall is a worthy replacement?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Clinic now," she glared the words at him, "You have another eleven days to go, wouldn't want me to add another seven would you?"

"You'd think being pregnant would make you all warm and fuzzy and melt your cold, cold heart; but then you are the devil – I almost pity the kid, the spawn of Satan herself."

Cuddy gave no response as she looked anxiously around her, through the glass and into the next room.

"Oh relax," House said, "My minions are off to do my bidding."

Cuddy turned to look up at him, even in heels she found herself much too short, "You haven't told anyone have you?"

"Why, would you like me to? I hear Wilson keeps a megaphone hidden under his desk; can go and steal it if you want?"

"Not even Wilson?" Cuddy asked; her face desperate in its attempt to elicit a single serious response from the man in front of her.

He sensed her desperation and granted her a reprieve, almost surprising himself with his show of mercy, "Haven't told a soul," he said.

Cuddy closed her eyes, a small breath of relief escaping her lips. There again was the sense of weariness that enveloped her. A twinge of curiosity, _not_ concern, flitted through him as he stared at her tired and drawn face.

"Unless you count Steve," he said.

Cuddy's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself staring at them. A small smile brightening them just a little, "Clinic," she said again, "In two minutes, House, or I will make that another week."

"Slave driver," he muttered under his breath. But Cuddy made no inclination of hearing him, as she turned on her heels and walked out of his office; the glass door shutting softly behind her.

Picking up the ball that had lain abandoned on his desk, he threw it at his wall, and watched as it rebounded almost instinctively back into his hands.

He shook his head, as a small smile graced his lips, and threw the ball once again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Can you please reschedule my 11am appointment on Wednesday for Friday," she said, twiddling a pen in her fingers, and leafing through her diary with the other hand, "and ask Brenda to come and see me when she's done with her shift?"

"That's fine, Dr. Cuddy."

Cuddy's head snapped up at the sound of the unfamiliar, definitely female voice. She wasn't unsurprised to see a young, blonde haired woman scribbling notes down in a notepad, but couldn't for the life of her remember when she had hired a new secretary. What had happened to John, or Joe, or whatever his name was? Oh well, she mused, she changed secretaries like she changed her shoes – what was another new employee to add to her long list.

"Thank you, uh . . ."

"Marie," secretary number 357 supplied.

"Marie," Cuddy smiled back.

A curt little nod, and Marie took that to be her cue to leave the room.

The double doors happened to open at the same time as Marie was just on her way out, and in walked Wilson; her head of oncology, the infamous epitome of marital disasters.

"Wilson," she smiled, "How can I help you?"

He appeared to be turning a pretty shade of pink, and Cuddy couldn't help but stare, her mind working overtime in trying to figure out what was going on in his head, "Wilson?"

"Um . . ." he started, _brilliant start, _"I have two theatre tickets, and I was wondering . . ."

Cuddy wasn't quite sure what to make of it all. This was the third time Wilson was asking her out; and whilst she had rather enjoyed herself in the capacity of a work colleague and friend, she wasn't quite sure how to interpret his apparent nervousness.

Being pregnant made the shark infested waters of dating even more daunting than before; and whilst Wilson held a certain charm, his previous record of when it came to commitment spoke volumes for him. She just wasn't sure it was the best idea for her to become involved with anyone, let alone an employee.

It seemed something was polluting the waters of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, because it wasn't just Wilson who had caught the bug. House asking her out had been a turn she had never once thought within the realm of possibility. She of course had told him then in not so many words that Wilson was the safer choice; but now with the pregnancy, her outlook had changed once again. Neither man, no make that, no man, was a safe choice.

House had at least appeared to get the hint; the chances of him still being interested were slim, what with her being an expectant mother-to-be. How he'd figured out she was pregnant before she'd realised herself was, however, a question for another time.

"Uh," she stuttered, "I uh, can't."

"Oh," Wilson managed, "Something else on?"

She nodded, "actually, I've got some stuff I need to do." It was a weak excuse, even to her own ears, it sounded pathetic, but it was all she could manage for the moment.

"Oh, ok," he smiled, "I just thought it'd be nice, something you know, to do."

"Yeah," Cuddy returned the smile as best she could, "Maybe some other time."

"Yeah, ok then, well I better uh get back to it, then."

She grimaced as he turned his back and walked out of her office. She would have laughed, if it hadn't been so painful.

Poor Wilson.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Poor Wilson, indeed.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

A massive thank you to _Shikabane-Mai, insanehouseaddict, TVHollywoodDiva, Huddytheultimate, Critical Blues, glicine, J Lesley, Alias424, thyla, franchy1988, and Datsamazin' _for your wonderful reviews.

**.: Chapter Three :.**

Pouring himself some coffee, House batted neither eyelid as Foreman's voice carried through the opening glass door.

"We can add haematemesis to that list now."

House threw the black marker pen into Foreman's unsuspecting hands, who managed to just about catch it with the distal tips of his fingers. He glared at House. House didn't notice, "You do the honours."

Foreman walked up to the white board and scrawled 'haematemesis' under the words, 'melaena' and 'recurrent amnesia' that were already written there.

"Where's Chase?"

"Still trying to do that endoscopy. There's just too much blood to get a clear view."

"Where's Cameron?"

"Assisting Chase."

"More like distracting," House stated, putting his coffee down. Grabbing his cane, he made for the door. Releasing an accustomed breath of frustration, Foreman followed not far behind.

"Where you going?" Foreman called after him.

"To see the patient," turning his head he added a perfunctory, "Duh!"

Sliding the glass door open, he entered the patient's room. Just as he had suspected; Cameron and Chase were both attempting to stick a tube down the ten year olds mouth as he continued to splutter blood everywhere, whilst his anxious, overwrought parents were standing like shaking leaves in the corner of the room.

Grabbing a pair of latex gloves and pulling them on, he thrust his cane into Foreman's hands, "Give it here," he barked at Chase.

Chase gladly handed over the endoscope, taking a step backward as Cameron pushed the screen further forward into House's view.

"Who are you?"

Male voice, probably the dad, House surmised, "Your son's doctor," he answered tersely, not bothering with his usual wholly inappropriate sarcasm.

It didn't take House long, unsurprisingly. Nodding at the screen he asked, "What do you see?"

Chase squinted at the screen, "There," he said after a good twenty seconds, "tear in the oesophageal lining."

"Took you long enough," House said, sliding the tube carefully out of the boy's mouth, "tell me again; why did I hire you?"

Chase never answered, reddening slightly.

"Mallory-Weiss?" Cameron asked.

"What's that? What's wrong with our son?"

House sighed, as he peeled off the gloves and deposited them in the yellow contaminated waste bin.

"It means your son's been puking his guts out more often than he should be; especially for a boy of his age," he glared at the mother; the impeccably dressed, _outrageously thin,_ mutton dressed as lamb, mother.

The father stepped forward, his face slowly accumulating a lovely red tinge.

_Oh here we go . . ._

"I'm sorry, are you insinuating that my son, my ten year old son, has been making himself sick on purpose?"

"Something like that," House shrugged.

Fists clenched, he bounded forwards in one stride, "How dare you! Don't you think we'd know if our own son-"

Not prepared for an argument, House cut the man short, "I'm so sorry. I do apologise. I've got it all wrong. Your son doesn't have a perforated oesophagus caused by excessive retching, but he does have a perforated oesophagus. Now if you'll kindly sign these papers in Dr. Cameron's possession, we'll get your son operated on as soon as possible, and he'll be as right as rain."

He didn't bother waiting for a response as he strode towards the exit, muttering, "physically anyway," under his breath and then throwing Foreman and Chase significant looks to follow him out.

Which of course they did.

Chase had his usually flabbergasted look painted on his far too pretty (for a man) facial features, whilst Foreman looked as unaffected as ever.

"W-wh-"

"Go search their home," House ordered, one hand pulling out some vicodin from his pocket, "I'm betting you'll find a nice stash of emetics."

"You think the mother's-"

House had already started limping away, "search the kitchen especially, make note of every food stuff you find."

"House?" Foreman called after him, "Why-"

"Just do it," House yelled, not bothering to look back as he disappeared down the corridor.

Dumbstruck, Foreman turned to stare at Chase. He received only a shrug of the shoulders in return.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The door flung open with unnecessary force.

"Need a consult," he half shouted into the exam room before stepping out.

Wilson turned back to his patient, mouth open, his eyes apologetic, before slowly taking his stethoscope out of his ears and placing it around his shoulders.

House's head popped back round the door frame, "take all the time you need, I'm obviously in no rush at all."

"I'm sorry," Wilson apologised to the patient, "I won't be a minute."

"Can't this wait," he said to House once he'd shut the door to exam room three behind him, "I'm with a patient."

House made a point of looking behind Wilson, "Not anymore you aren't."

"Well what is it then?"

"Told you, need a consult."

"And?" Wilson drawled out slowly as if talking to a five year old.

"Ten year old male, puking, pooping blood; the whole works."

"And you need me, because I'm assuming you're thinking gastric carcinoma."

"Oh Jimmy, I knew you were one smart cookie."

"And you'll also therefore know I'm going to say that a child of his age is unlikely to have cancer of the stomach."

"What, so he's more likely to have leukaemia because he was born in 1997? Dude, that's ageist."

Wilson rolled his eyes, "Have you done a CT scan, since an MRI is still out of the question. Your doing entirely, of course."

"Nope," House said, "Hoping you could do that."

"What about your team?"

"Busy with another errand Papa House sent them on, are you gonna do it or not?"

"You mean, busy sending them off to break the law, again."

"What's one more time," House shrugged, "So?"

"Fine," Wilson surrendered, "Let me just finish with this patient."

"Is he dying, like right now?"

"No, but-"

"Then he can wait."

Wilson watched with one last sigh of exasperation as House limped away from him, and back down the corridor.

A moment of hesitation later and he followed close behind him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"So what did the scan show?" House asked. From all vantage points he didn't seem remotely interested in the question nor its answer. He continued to bounce his ball against the wall and catch it with the handle of his cane. Another talent in his long list of many.

Wilson sat down on House's desk, "No sign of a tumour anywhere along his foregut."

"Well he's obviously bleeding from somewhere – try hindgut. Unless you don't want to get your hands dirty," House sneered.

"A colonoscopy is completely unnecessary – I really don't think-"

"HOUSE!"

Both heads whipped towards the door. Unsurprisingly they were greeted with the sight of their boss storming in, her white lab coat billowing out behind her like the devil's cloak.

House could do nothing to stop the grin that surfaced unwittingly across his face. Wilson opted to cower in either frightened submission or earlier embarrassment; he was no longer sure which.

"What the hell did you say to Mr. Pacewicz?"

"P- who?"

"Father of the little boy in your care, who also just so happens to be one of our biggest donors, who incidentally has decided to stop all funding because some stupid prat of a doctor couldn't keep his mouth shut."

"Oh come on," House started, "The mother's making her own son puke his guts out so that he can be her idea of a healthy pretzel, the dad's worse – doesn't say a word-"

"You don't have any proof-"

"I will in," House turned his wrist to look at his watch, "another fifteen minutes."

Closing her eyes, Cuddy took in a deep, supposedly calming breath, "fine, fifteen minutes House, and this better be good."

Turning she caught sight of Wilson sat deathly still on House's desk, looking anywhere but at her.

"Wilson," she nodded, and then with one last glare at House she removed herself from her head of diagnostics office.

House's thoughts were much too obscured by a rather unpleasant notion that had just invaded his mind to let them linger much longer on Cuddy's ass. He turned with one accusing finger pointed at his best friend and all but growled, "What's going on with you and Cuddy?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2: **Please review and let me know your thoughts.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you for reading; I hope you're enjoying it so far. And a special thank you to _socrgrl14,_ _sinister scribe,_ _WuHaoNi,_ _Huddytheultimate, Alias424, Shikabane-Mai, J Lesley, insanehouseaddict, shoppingal87, visitor, glicine, TVHollywoodDiva and thyla _for taking the time to leave much appreciated reviews.

**.: Chapter Four :.**

"Nothing," Wilson immediately sprung on the defence, "Nothing's going on."

"And pain is all butterflies and lollipops – what's going on?"

The nervous laughter did nothing to quell House's suspicion as Wilson uttered another, "nothing, absolutely nothing."

"So that's why you couldn't even look at her without turning beetroot. Nice colour, by the way – suits you way better than jaundiced yellow or putrid green," House stared meaningfully at Wilson's pristinely ironed shirt.

"Why are you so interested in Cuddy anyway?" the oncologist asked, going on the offensive.

His strategy, however, fell at the first hurdle as House smiled and said, "Nuh uh, I'm asking the question, Jimmy, you answer first."

With a sigh he relented, "Ok, fine. I told her I had spare tickets for the theatre."

"You asked her to a play, _again_?" House's eyebrows had shot skyward at this piece of information.

"_As friends_," Wilson stressed.

House nodded his head in exaggerated disbelief, but his attempt at feigning indifference failed to hide his true curiosity and unease, "What did she say?"

Wilson smirked – a self-satisfied, cat that got the cream, smirk; "You're jealous."

House rolled his eyes, "Oh please."

Wilson laughed, "Yes, you are. You're jealous."

House threw his hands up, "You're right. I'm definitely jealous," he admitted with a little too much conviction.

Wilson laughed again, but House's expression quickly turned his chuckle weak, and finally to silence, "Seriously?"

"No, you idiot!"

"Oh."

Another second of silence followed, and House just couldn't help himself, "So," he tried again with all the flippancy he could muster, "What did she say?"

Wilson stared at him incredulous, but nevertheless muttered, albeit unwillingly, "She shot me down, satisfied?"

Widening grin was answer enough, but just for clarification, House tagged on an, "Immensely."

Wilson's suspicions grew further; taking a step closer to House, he asked, "Are you going to answer my question, now?"

"What question?"

"About why you're so interested in Cuddy?"

"Nope," House smiled smugly, "You didn't actually think I would did you?"

Wilson's retort vanished on his lips as the glass door flew open once again, only this time to allow the entry of Chase and Foreman, followed not far behind by Cameron.

Shaking a prescribed bottle of gloopy syrup in front of him, Chase smiled much too happily, "ipecacuanha."

"So what?" Wilson shrugged, "that stuffs legal."

"Yes, but not at the doses dear mom's been feeding her ten year old, sumo wrestler of a son," House said, all traces of his previous conversation with Wilson just moments ago, vanishing.

"He's not fat!" Wilson spluttered.

"Your point?"

No answer was given, and so House turned back to the matter at hand, "You raid their fridge?"

"Yeah," Foreman answered, "nothing but raw fish and a distinct lack of carbohydrates."

"Those blasted omegas, make people more idiot than intelligent."

He turned to Cameron, "So what does that tell us?"

"Thiamine deficiency, would explain the short term memory loss."

"Korsakoff's," Chase nodded.

"I doubt mother's been plying him with alcohol, but early stages of Korsakoff's psychosis would explain one symptom at least," House agreed. "The ipecacuanha explains the haematemesis, but not the bloody stools."

"Cancer," Wilson supplied.

House nodded.

"I'll go do the colonoscopy," Wilson sighed, standing up.

"Someone needs to call social services." It was no surprise that those particular words had come from Cameron's mouth.

House nodded silently in agreement, "but I think you should let Cuddy know first."

"Why?" Cameron asked, not seeing the need, but inanely curious anyway; especially considering the fact House never ran anything by Cuddy – ever.

"Because I don't think the big boss lady's going to be happy when her big donor gets harassed by big scary social services without fair warning."

Cameron acquiesced with a nod of her head and a quietly muttered, "fine."

House hobbled after her, "I'll come with you."

Cameron stared up at him, confusion and curiosity fusing together so that neither was singularly identifiable. House answered the unasked question with a shrug of the shoulders, "Because I feel like it."

As one limped and the other walked towards Cuddy's office, a weird silence fell around them. It was rather irksome, really. Cameron kept sneaking looks at him, his side profile giving nothing away. She was either psychoanalysing him as customary, or swooning at his handsome face – House wasn't really sure which. Neither option made House want to jump for joy; not even the latter. Her schoolgirl crush was lingering like a bad odour. He'd never denied Cameron was pretty decent to look at – it had been one of his reasons for hiring her. And her apparent altruism and need to strive for justness at every turn also had its charms, but he had never felt more than a modicum of passing interest for her. Part of him felt awful for Chase; not that he'd ever tell the blond wombat that of course.

His thoughts were soon no longer on his subordinates as Cuddy's office came into view. Oh no, he had bigger fish to fry.

Lisa Cuddy. Where should he start? Theirs was a strange relationship. He'd known her for years, but their relationship could almost be synonymous with the changing seasons. Some cold, another warm, one blistering hot; each different and never the same, not even twice. No, he couldn't define it; but one thing he could definitely no longer deny (courtesy of his dear friend Wilson and his masochistic obsession of asking Cuddy out on pointless dates) was that all consequences be damned, he _was_ attracted to her. Pregnant or not.

Cameron edged out in front of him, opening the doors to her office, holding it open as House stepped in after her.

Cuddy looked up from her desk, her pen dropping on to the paper in front of her, "Well?" she said.

Though Cuddy was staring at House, Cameron answered her, "We found a bottle of ipecacuanha prescribed to Mrs. Pacewicz. We suspect she's been feeding her son with high doses of the expectorant, causing him to vomit, resulting in the oesophageal tear."

"Kids worrying about their figures, the ages are just nose-diving aren't they?" House shook his head, "Shocking."

Cuddy shook her own head softly. "Have you called social services?"

Cameron replied in the negative.

"Well go and call them, and I suppose I better have a chat with Mr. Pacewicz," she added quietly.

House waited for Cameron to leave before he opened his mouth with something entirely unexpected, "I can talk to him if you want."

Cuddy's mouth opened again in shocked silence – it seemed to be doing that more often than not recently. She scoffed, "you?"

House shrugged, "Why not?"

Cuddy stood up, rounded her desk to perch herself on it in front of House, who happened to be sat on one of her chairs, cane propped carefully against the side.

"I think the question is more why, than why not?"

"Because you look like you're going to keel over any second if you don't get some sleep. Now I don't know what that means to you, but let me tell you, it wouldn't be very good for the cleaners if you did. All that mess." He shook his head, "Not really fair, is it?"

"If I didn't know any better, House, I'd say you were concerned."

"You don't know any better."

Cuddy smiled; it was that oddly victorious smile that House could make no sense of and it frustrated him.

She turned away then, standing up and walking back round her desk, one arm creeping up to behind her neck as she stretched ever so slightly. House watched mesmerised; not at all realising he was doing so.

"You're right," she said.

"I am?"

She yawned, "I need sleep." Grabbing her bag, she chucked her car keys at him. House stared at them dumbfounded.

"You know the civil thing would be to ask first and not assume."

"All that mess," Cuddy retorted, "Wouldn't be fair for the emergency services to clear up, would it?"

House could do nothing to quash the smile that threatened.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

On re-entering the conference room, Cameron wasn't entirely unsurprised to find House still AWOL, and the others sat around the table twiddling their thumbs.

"House not with you?" Chase asked.

Cameron shook her head.

"Well what are we supposed to do now?" Foreman asked, pushing himself back further down his chair.

"Go home," Chase yawned.

"You call social services?" Foreman asked Cameron.

Cameron sighed, before sitting down on one of the chairs. She nodded, "Wasn't pretty."

"Never is," Chase remarked.

Turning her head, she stared at Chase just long enough for him to feel the prickles of heat from her glare. He looked up at her; she turned her head away, feigning nonchalance.

Foreman's eyes moved surreptitiously from one to the other, before standing up, "I'm going home."

Chase nodded, "Before House comes back, sounds like a plan," he said standing up.

Foreman looked down at Cameron expectantly, "You?"

"In a while."

Bag and jacket in one hand, Foreman was the first to leave. If Cameron hadn't known any better, she would suspect Chase was taking a little longer than necessary in pulling his jacket on.

"Doing anything tonight?" The moment the words came out of her mouth was the instant she wished them away.

Chase's expression wasn't helping in the least. He had a sort of disbelief etched on his face, melting into his wounded puppy look. He laughed humourlessly, "No. I think I've had enough of doing anything any night. Sleeping alones a novelty I never thought I'd miss."

And with those coldly spoken words, Chase left Cameron sat in daze.

It seemed Chase had given up – flowers and Tuesday declarations of longing were left in the dust and Cameron could neither help nor explain the mourning of their loss.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2: **A little Chase/Cameron will inevitably seep into the cracks of this story, but the good news is the next chapter is entirely House and Cuddy. Please review and let me know your thoughts!

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to _WuHaoNi,_ _Shikabane-Mai, Huddytheultimate, glicine, sinister scribe, insanehouseaddict, chris-am and gidget89_ for leaving such wonderful reviews!

**.: Chapter Five :.**

Stood on her porch, Cuddy fumbled clumsily around her bag for her keys. She could hear House approach softly behind her; having driven her home, and locked her car, it figured he would want something in return for his apparent chivalry. She fought down the sudden urge to snort. A chivalrous House was perhaps the rarest of gemstones known to mankind. He could be the epitome of a gentleman when he so chose; Stacy was conceivably the only living proof of such a quality in House.

It was odd though for herself to be on the receiving end of such a magnanimous show – and so her thoughts returned full circle; House was after something.

Her quandaries, however, were abruptly disrupted by a shiny, small key shape like object being waved gleefully in front of her face.

"How-"

"You know, you really ought to find somewhere new to hide your key, Cuddy. It's been what, fifteen months already?"

She would have glared at him, but then that would mean turning around to face him, and the close proximity would mean she would careen head first into his chest – not that she pondered for a millisecond what that would be like.

And so she opted to snatch the key angrily out of his hands and shove it into the key hole.

The door opened, and she wasn't entirely surprised to find House barrage past her and into her own home first. All thoughts of chivalry diffused with all the subtlety of a popped balloon.

"Make yourself at home," she muttered, hanging her coat and shutting her front door.

Sitting himself down; he set about to do just that. Carefully lifting his leg, he placed it ceremoniously on to Cuddy's coffee table.

Cuddy appeared in the doorway. With a shake of the head she moved tiredly to the kitchen. House's presumptuousness resonated around her home as he said rather too comfortably, "I'll have a beer, thanks."

He heard the refrigerator door shut with a resounding whack. A couple of soft footsteps later, Cuddy appeared towering above him with no beer can, but a half full glass of water to substitute.

"Sorry, no alcohol, no caffeine, and certainly no vicodin."

"Killjoy. Just cos you can't enjoy life's little luxuries anymore, doesn't mean you can force a sympathetic pregnancy on all your guests. Now that's just rude."

"Rude?" Cuddy scoffed, "You invented the word."

"Hey!" House contested, partly affronted, "I drove you home."

Cuddy sat down in the armchair, avoiding his gaze she whispered, "thank you."

"Sorry didn't quite catch that." He looked far too happy than sanity should allow.

"I said," Cuddy ground out, meeting his eye, "thank you."

He didn't smile, "You're welcome."

Oddities were fast becoming the standard between them; be it in words, expressions or even silences – everything was teetering off at odd angles, no longer comprehensible, no longer safe.

Uncomfortable with the quiet creeping in, House reached along the couch to pick up the remote. With a flickering green light, the television sprung to life. He could feel Cuddy's eyes lingering on his profile. She turned away after a moment, and House felt their absence more keenly than he should spend time to ponder over.

He flicked restlessly through the channels; finally finding himself something to watch that he not only enjoyed, but knew would evoke a response of some sort in the woman sat not far from him. He waited with baited breath for her to say something; outwardly he displayed nothing but indifference to her opinion for his choice.

Seconds turned into minutes, and she had still said nothing. Surprise turned inquisitive, and almost as if not being able to help himself, he turned his head ever so slightly to gauge her reaction.

She was actually watching. She was actually engaged.

"Turn the volume up."

His fingers reacted to her command, the volume bar increasing on the television screen, but his eyes never left her face. Astonishment was one word, incredulous was another.

Well who would have thought? Cuddy was a closet fan of wrestling.

Happily he stored that little trinket of information away in his treasure trove labelled, 'things to use to humiliate Lisa Cuddy when opportunity arises.' He was still staring at her, and Cuddy finally noticed.

"What?"

Pursing his lips in a woeful attempt not to smile, he said, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

She narrowed her eyes, obviously not believing him, but turned back to the television screen nevertheless.

"I thought you were going to talk to Mr. Pacewicz for me."

"Yeah . . ." House shifted, "I only said that to make you go home."

"What!" Cuddy turned on him, her previously sceptic eyes now shining with indignant disbelief, "but you said-"

"I say, doesn't mean I do. Come on Cuddy, I'm disappointed, you should know better by now."

Cuddy had to concede he was right – she should have known better. She blamed the fluctuating, see-sawing hormones swimming carefree through her blood vessels. It seemed being pregnant really did turn brain matter to a grey squishy mess. That of course meant House would jump at the chance to take advantage.

"You should get back to work."

"I'd rather watch this, thanks."

"House," Cuddy's attempt at seriousness fell flat on its behind.

"Cuddy," he retorted, his voice low to mirror her own.

Low voiced, serious, intensely blue eyed House was a sight to behold. Oh, he was handsome, she knew that. It was why he wasn't the big a legal disaster he could have been. Sure it didn't work on everyone, but his innate charm let him get away with more than he should have been allowed to. Even Cuddy was guilty of falling prey to Gregory House's manipulation on more occasions than it was possible to count. But this – this was something else entirely.

His stare was suffocating, robbing her of coherent thought. It was like he was trying to communicate something intangible, ethereal, but no sooner had the sight started registering in her foggy brain; the moment shattered, disappearing as he turned back to the television screen. It had been fleeting, but the intensity of the moment was gone leaving behind only an unseen footprint in her mind, almost as if it had never been there to begin with.

It made no sense. It had been a bolt from the blue, and the only clue she had for it was the words that fell out his mouth several silenced minutes later.

"Who's the father?"

Her eyes widened, mouth gaping open at the question.

She wanted to know why it was so important to him. She wanted to know what interest that held to him, but all she could manage was a faint, unwilling answer to his question, "I don't know."

He flicked off the television; the red standby light of the set screaming at her, taunting her with unwanted quiet.

"You don't know," he repeated. It wasn't a question, but it was still laced with dangerous accusation.

Cuddy ran a hand through her untied hair, fingers catching on several knots, "I decided to go with a donor; so apart from his medical history, I have no idea who he is."

He laughed, wry and unplanned, "Don't you think you owe your kid to at least know who the father is."

"Why? Because who he is matters?" Cuddy replied, standing up. "You know, I really don't know what your problem is House? I asked you to help me remember. But you laughed in my face, and spouted me some nonsense about finding someone I trusted, someone I liked. Well, I don't see him anywhere, do you?"

The retort was there on his tongue, plucked out of thin air, catching him completely and utterly off guard in its suddenness and brashness. He half wanted to spit it out, but the other half begged he say nothing. His anger had made no sense until she had asked that last, ridiculously searching question. The answer was staring her in the face – she still didn't know it and he refused to acknowledge and believe it a possibility.

She ran a hand over her face, and House could only watch as she fell back on to the armchair, defeated.

"I'm sorry, you're right. I should know, he/she, whoever they are, have a right to know. But I just . . . I didn't even think it was going to work. It was my last ditch attempt. I just couldn't keep doing it again and again. I knew I had to give up at some point, but fate just had to have the last laugh."

House was silent; cane in hand, he prodded the floor boards with it.

"How did you know?"

He looked up.

"How did you know I was pregnant?" she repeated the question.

House shrugged, "Observation."

Cuddy laughed quietly, no humour evident, "Obviously."

"I worked out your menstrual cycle; you didn't think I'd figure out a tiny thing like when you're knocked up with a little parasite swimming around in your uterus?"

Shaking her head, she smiled, "Only you would call it a parasite."

"We're all parasites," House answered, turning to look at her; his eyes a duller shade of blue, the words spoken in earnest but with a touch too much of melancholy. It clawed at her insides, and she found she missed his vibrancy, but she could not fathom why that was.

His sight had long since dropped back down to the floor – and she felt it more acutely.

A moment of silence later and House pressed down with his cane, pushing himself to stand. Cuddy followed suit, making no attempt to make him stay any longer. The conversation had shrivelled and died – all that was left was a sensitive core that neither party were willing to discuss just yet.

He limped over to the door, and opened it with his free hand.

Cuddy continued to hover at the doorway to her living room, watching without a word.

"Thank you for driving me home," she finally said, breaking the stifling hush that had descended around them.

One look back over his shoulder, and then Cuddy was left with nothing but an empty home, and just another lonely night in to cross off her calendar.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** I'm sorry; the angst just crept out of nowhere. Please review and share your thoughts! Reviews are like carrots . . .

**SmilinStar**

**xxx **


	6. Chapter 6

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Special thank you to _gidget89, glicine, insanehouseaddict, Shikabane-Mai, Lily, Critical Blues, TVHollywoodDiva, abc2, Alias424 _and_ murphinsandyeggo _for taking the time to leave me such wonderful reviews!

**Part Two**

_In which morning sickness besmirches all attempts at kindness . . ._

**.: Chapter Six :.**

He was becoming rather adept at playing on his PSP and keeping at least one of his ears open for eavesdropping; for if he hadn't happened to be a master of this rather rare skill, he would not have been privy to a large slice of juicy gossip that had wafted in through his slightly open door.

Cameron had just walked in, bright eyed and bushy tailed – that particular idiom was lost on House, but nevertheless, Cameron had walked in. Wednesday morning, the coffee was ready and brewed and Chase and Foreman were already in their seats milling over a crossword or journal article. These were irrelevant details. What was of importance, however, and what caught House's usually unobtainable attention was the conspiratorial tone which Cameron had adopted for the following words:

"You'll never guess who I ran into in the ladies' restroom."

"Let me guess, a female," Chase supplied helpfully.

"No," Cameron rolled her eyes, House assumed she had anyway. She usually did when she sounded tetchy.

"I know," Foreman smirked, "a male."

Cameron sat down, "Do you want to know or not?"

Foreman shut his medical journal, folded his arms across his chest and prompted her to continue. Chase left his pen balanced between his two fingers, not really sure if he found his crossword puzzle more interesting than Cameron's little piece of unusual gossiping.

"Cuddy," she said.

She had the attention of both of House's ears now.

"Last I checked even Deans of Medicine need to urinate."

"She was being sick."

"So she ate something dodgy for dinner," Chase shrugged.

"What you don't think it's even remotely possible that she's pregnant."

Foreman laughed, "You're not serious, House was kidding about Cuddy trying to get pregnant. You didn't really believe him did you?"

House decided now was as good a time as any to intervene, "Don't be stupid," he said walking into the room. Cameron flushed pink at being caught red-handed dabbling in hearsay, the others looked unaffected. "She's not pregnant; she just naturally has a giant ass."

And that seemed to stop the conversation dead, "So you people got any cases for me?"

Blank faces all round made House undeniably happy.

"Good, now you guys just stay out of sight, and today should be a blissfully event free day." And with those words, he walked straight back into his office.

Three heads turned to watch him go.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

This was the third time this morning.

Flushing the toilet, she threw down the lid with a disregard for the obvious sound it would make, and sat down exhausted.

She thought she could handle the morning sickness. Frighteningly, she had been quite overjoyed at the prospect of vomiting every morning if it meant she was indeed pregnant and this was not some vivid hallucination conjured up by her mind to somehow compensate for not getting her uttermost desires.

But the novelty of puking her guts out had worn out almost instantly; especially when she had ran into, a far too inquisitive and sharp for her own good, Allison Cameron.

Cameron had asked her with vomit inducing – what she really hadn't needed at all – sincerity if she was okay. She had lied quite believably that she had ordered Chinese last night, and it hadn't really agreed with her digestive system. She could only hope she'd bought it.

The second time, she'd been in a board meeting.

Running out of that had been in no way inconspicuous.

She returned with the same story she had given Cameron; the only difference was this time it was accompanied by a jaunty little laugh. As in, oh yes, isn't it funny, I'm a doctor and can't even prevent myself from getting food poisoning. If she was going to lie, it would help if there was a little consistency.

At least Wilson had bought it.

Although he had appeared a little overtly concerned; no doubt fanning the flames of constant tongue wagging as to the Dean of Medicine's love life. More like non-existent love life, she mused silently, self-pity settling in.

The third time, she had finally been alone – and the rush to the toilets could be done with little to no stealth at all.

Head in hands she continued to sit in the cubicle for several minutes more. It would be quite a sight for her to rush out and then rush back in as another wave of nausea attacked.

Best to just stay where she was.

Of course that was easier said than done, as she heard the door to the bathroom being flung open, and rather loud footsteps getting closer. She watched in mild horror through the gap at the bottom of the door, as a pair of definitely male sneakers came to stop directly in front of her.

Her feet sprung up off the floor and joined the rest of her atop the toilet seat.

Come to think of it, those sneakers looked _very familiar_.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"She's pregnant, I'm telling you," Cameron whined in Chase's ear as she came to pick up another patient file from the nurses' desk.

Chase continued to look disinterested, "I really don't think it's any of our business."

Cameron continued on oblivious, "One of the nurses saw her rushing to the toilet again – she said she looked like she was about to hurl."

"You know maybe she really did eat something that had gone off, and she now has diarrhoea to go with the vomiting; the whole nine yards."

He smirked a little, "whole nine yards, get it?"

Cameron wasn't impressed, but persisted with her theory, "What about House?"

"What about House?" Chase asked, clicking his ball point pen into action, so he could sign some of the paperwork in front of him.

"He knew we were getting close, that's why he snuck in on our conversation and cut it short."

Chase dropped the pen and turned to stare at his co-worker, and who knew what else, "You're assuming House would actually want to protect Cuddy."

Cameron's assured expression faltered somewhat.

"Don't you think," Chase continued, "House would leap at the chance to humiliate Cuddy and be at the centre of the rumour mill if it was even remotely possible that she was pregnant?"

It was a fair point, one which she had to concede, "Fine," she muttered, "You're probably right."

That seemed to satisfy the Australian; grabbing another file he turned towards exam two.

She, however, remained rooted to the spot. Her gaze turning towards Cuddy's office and her glaring absence. Something was going on, that much she was sure of.

And the sight of one Gregory House entering the ladies' restroom as if it were the most normal thing in the world was evidence enough.

"Chase!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Cuddy almost groaned out loud, but she made no attempt to move.

Though House ducking down so that nothing but his blue eyes stared up at her through the gap at the bottom of the door was something right out of a horror movie, and she could do nothing this time to prevent the little yelp of fright that came from her mouth.

"I can see you," he grinned.

"HOUSE!" She flung the cubicle door open, House staggered backwards, perilously close to falling over, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think you're doing?" House returned, "Scaring a cripple like that."

"Scaring a . . ." the words died on her lips as she laughed, "_You_ scared the crap out of _me_."

"Hey, look, I only came here to warn you."

Taking a deep, calming breath in, Cuddy walked over to the sinks to wash her hands. House followed, stopping right behind her - a touch too close, but that had been purely intentional on his part.

"Warn me about what?" She snapped.

"Cameron, Editor-in-Chief of Princeton Plainsboro Daily Dirt."

"Oh no," Cuddy turned around, realisation dawning. She made no notice of the fact that she was a mere millimetres from House, her eyesight just about level with the undone top button of his crumpled blue shirt.

"There's a nice rumour running around that the Dean of Medicine's gone and got herself knocked up."

"That's just great."

If House's grin was anything to go by, he certainly seemed to think so.

"Remind me to fire her pretty little ass," she muttered moving to dry her hands on a paper towel, and then dispose of it in the bin.

"Anyone would think you were jealous that her ass is smaller than yours."

For that remark he received a stony glare.

"Personally I prefer yours. Bigger is definitely better."

This time he got a small smile.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Now do you believe me?" Cameron asked.

They watched as both Cuddy and House walked out from the ladies' toilets; completely ignorant of that _minor_ fact. And to top it all off, she was laughing. Cuddy was laughing at one of House's inane remarks, and he was _smiling_. _House was smiling_.

And all Chase could do was stare with his mouth wide open.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I really hope you enjoyed reading it. Please leave a review and share your thoughts – reviews make me obscenely happy.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Special thank you to_, Shikabane-Mai, J Lesley, insanehouseaddict, WuHaoNi, glicine, Merlynnod, sinister scribe, HuddyTheUltimate, gidget89 and TVHollywoodDiva _for reviewing!

**.: Chapter Seven :.**

House held the door open with his cane, allowing Cuddy to duck under his outstretched arm and enter her own office. He followed behind her.

Approaching her desk, Cuddy turned to look back at him. She shouldn't have been surprised at the sight of her Head Diagnostician making himself comfortable on the small couch.

"Don't you have work to do?" Cuddy asked eyebrows raised.

House settled in further, locking his fingers behind his head as he leaned back, "Oh I have a case, my oh so efficient team are running tests as we speak."

"Nice try," Cuddy said, "I know for a fact you don't have any cases."

"Fine," he said, leaning forward, "in that case the answer to your question would be, no I don't have any work to do. In fact," he stood up, "I can go home."

"Not so fast," Cuddy sat down behind her desk, "You've still got quite a few clinic hours left if I'm not mistaken."

"You know a little bit of gratitude wouldn't hurt; I just saved you from utter embarrassment."

"Saving me from utter embarrassment would have been stopping the rumour mill dead before it had even got up and started running."

"Contrary to popular belief, I really don't have super powers. You'd need more than Superman, Spiderman and all the X-men put together to stop the nurses from getting their hands on their daily quota of hospital gossip."

"Yeah well, you barging into the women's toilets probably won't have helped matters."

House shrugged, "I needed to pee, and the men's were a whole feet too far away."

Head now in hands, Cuddy let out a frustrated groan, "House, please. I've been throwing up all day, I'm exhausted and irritated, can you please just go and find something useful to do."

Oddly, Cuddy's plea appeared to have struck some invisible chord with House, and with a single nod, he turned away and left her office with not so much as a single syllable uttered.

Cuddy would have spent ages trying to delve into House's thought process and his reasoning for turning away, but was far too tired to even attempt it. The thought of not looking a gift horse in the mouth briefly flitted through her mind.

If fluctuating hormones wasn't bad enough, adding House's constant inconsistencies in manners, mood and behaviour could only be a recipe for disaster for a pregnant woman, who also happened to have the additional stress of running a hospital.

With a heavy sigh, Cuddy pulled out a hefty pile of paper work and set to work.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You can't possibly argue that there isn't at least _something_ going on," Cameron said to a still stunned Chase.

They were back in the conference room; Chase was sat around the desk, hands folding, unfolding agitatedly in front of him. Cameron was stood, hands on the desk, leaning forward. The room was empty apart from them; Foreman's and House's absence glaring in the confused and hazy silence. Even the white board was shining brilliantly, no words scribbled there in black – a stark reminder that they were currently without a case and that they should theoretically be down in the clinic.

"It was probably nothing," Chase said, "there's probably an innocent explanation."

Cameron's quelling stare was answer enough as to her thoughts on that possible idea.

Chase conceded she was probably right, "House and innocent in the same sentence – yeah, I just can't quite see it either."

"But then again," he said, looking to be on the verge of some epiphany, "Put Cuddy into the equation – and the answer's simpler than we're thinking."

"She's pregnant," Cameron uttered for what must have been the twentieth time today.

Chase shook his head, "I really don't think so. Cuddy plus babies and add in running a Hospital and controlling House is a recipe for disaster."

Cameron waited for him to continue, not convinced by his reasoning and more certain than ever her gut instinct had hit the target dead centre.

"One of House's favourite pastimes is without a doubt annoying Cuddy at every chance he gets-"

"Who's annoying Cuddy?"

Both heads turned in the direction of the additional voice. Foreman had just walked in, his eyes moving back and forth between Chase and Cameron. He laughed, "I'll hazard a guess and say House."

"Who else." The words came out of both Chase and Cameron's mouths simultaneously.

Foreman eye's moved from one to the other with a mixture of palpable horror and disbelief, "Don't tell me, you two are sleeping together again?"

"NO!" Again the synchronicity of the words did nothing to suppress Foreman's suspicions concerning the relationship between his colleagues.

They were agreeing – that was never a good sign.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

With his little portable TV set up, House settled back to watch his beloved _General Hospital._ The peace and quiet was warmly welcomed, and he figured he had at least fifteen minutes before Cuddy came knocking and dragged him by the ear to one of the exam rooms to see yet another patient with a case of life threatening sniffles or his current favourite - customary crotch rot as a result of the alarmingly frequent occurrence of SWS.

The opening of the door was not welcome at all, as House realised Cuddy had found him ten minutes too early. The face that however greeted him was not Cuddy, but rather an amused Wilson.

"Well isn't this is a surprise."

"Not really," House said, his attention returning to the marvellously choreographed catfight on screen.

"Hiding from Cuddy?" Wilson asked, sitting himself down beside House.

"If I say no, would you believe me?"

"Probably not."

"You'd be a very wise person indeed."

"She was sick," Wilson said – the words spilling out of his mouth with a complete disregard for the direction of their current conversation.

"I'm guessing by the past tense, _she_ is dead."

"What?" Wilson said, stumped, "Who are you talking about?"

"Who are _you_ talking about," House countered.

"Cuddy."

"Oh, Cuddy. Well last I checked, she was puking her guts out in the toilets."

"How do you-"

"I have my methods."

"I'm sure you do," Wilson muttered.

"You know Jimmy, one would be quick to assume you were actually concerned about our dear Dean of Medicine."

"She's a friend!"

House's only response was a wry little laugh.

"What so you're not even remotely concerned?" Wilson asked.

"Nope," House answered much too easily, "It's rather amusing actually."

Climbing down from his seat, Wilson stood up, "I'm gonna go and see if she's alright."

"If you're trying to get her to go out with you again, you may as well do it right."

"What?" Wilson did surprise to sickening perfection, House mused silently as he watched him carefully.

"Cuddy loves chugging down gallons of coffee, get her a cup and there's a ninety six percent chance you're gonna get laid tonight."

"What? But I thought coffee on an upset stomach-" he stopped mid-sentence noticing the upturns of House's mouth curling into a smirk, "I told you, I don't want to have sex with Cuddy."

House nodded. His head saying 'of course not,' his expression, however, saying the exact opposite.

He schooled his face into neutral for just a second to then say, "Seriously just get her a coffee, it'll help."

Again Wilson could do nothing to hide his doubt, "But coffee-"

"It's Cuddy," House shrugged interrupting, "Secretly she just laps up non-conformity."

Scepticism filled Wilson, but he turned away regardless and left the room; the door shutting behind him.

With the barest hint of a small smile, House climbed off the bed he had been sat upon, grabbed his portable TV, folded away the antenna, and then limped away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was nearing two in the afternoon, lunch had come and gone and she had only managed to eat half a sandwich before a fresh wave of nausea had hit her. She'd legged it out of the cafeteria with all the grace she could manage, but it had only been a false alarm. She'd made it back to her office, and sat there well aware this was probably only a short reprieve.

She thought that morning sickness was so labelled because that's exactly what it was. She mused many women had thought just that; and then when the symptoms would continue past twelve noon would join her in cursing whoever had coined the blasted term for its sheer inaccuracy.

The doors to her office opened in a flourish, and she groaned half aloud at the sight of a rather far too chirpy Gregory House, "Feeling better?"

The doors closed behind him as he neared her desk.

"Do I look like I'm feeling better?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "What do you want House, I thought I told you to go find something useful to do?"

"I have found something useful to do," he said before sitting himself down on the couch.

Cuddy opened her mouth, but the words didn't seem to fall out with it usual ease. The reason was probably a lot to do with the man who had just walked into the room, brandishing a mug of something that smelled suspiciously like freshly made coffee.

"Hey, I thought I'd bring you something to help you feel better."

House, still unseen by Wilson, tried furiously to smother the laugh that was just itching to claw its way out. Wilson was just too damn gullible; it was embarrassing.

Cuddy seemed to turn a lovely green hue, queasiness taking hold as she struggled against the onslaught of the urge to throw up yet again.

"Are you ok?" Wilson asked frowning. He came closer, rounding the table, concern shining far too brightly in his eyes, completely oblivious. House struggled to keep silent.

Eyeing the coffee cup, Cuddy attempted to tell Wilson that coffee really was the last thing she needed, but it seemed her senses had taken charge and her digestive tract was rebelling quite viciously, and before Wilson could even blink, he found himself covered in fresh vomit and a rather apologetic and sheepish looking Cuddy staring, red-faced up at him.

A slow clap resonated around the office, followed by an immediately recognisable laugh,

"Now that was brilliant."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** So I couldn't help it; torturing Wilson's just too easy! Part Two was merely a supposedly fun little reprieve, and Part Three should be on the way soon. Hope you enjoyed it.

**SmilinStar **

**xxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

A big thank you to_ sinister scribe, insanehouseaddict, HuddyTheUltimate, WuHaoNi, J Lesley, Shikabane-Mai, Alias424, Eleanor J., Whitelight72, TVHollywoodDiva and glicine _for leaving me a review and making me smile! You guys are wonderful!

Also a massive apology for the long wait - I happen to be still living in the technological dark ages: so when my phone line decided to go on the blitz, it took my dial up internet connection with it. Frankly, I don't know how I've survived without the internet for so long . . .

**Part Three**

_In which hormones are given free reign to run riot . . . _

**.: Chapter Eight :.**

Two months into the pregnancy and already she could feel her abdomen rounding. It wasn't noticeable to anyone but herself; it was just her skirts were beginning to fit a little more snugly than normal. Despite vapid rumours floating around the hospital, it remained that only House was aware of her current situation, and that fact did not surprise her in the least. It was only a logical progression that the man who had figured out she was trying for a baby in the first place should actually know when she had indeed succeeded.

Her emotions were a muddle in recent weeks. Hormones could easily take a large percentage of the blame, but that could not deter from the fact that she was both genuinely excited and absolutely terrified at the prospect of motherhood at the same time. She had always known that this would be a full time job that would last her the rest of her life; adding that to her already full time job of running a hospital and trying to keep House in line, and she was well aware that this would be no easy challenge. But then she wouldn't be Lisa Cuddy if she didn't continually set herself challenges and strive to overachieve at every opportunity that arose. It was just who she was. Failure had never existed in her vocabulary; but now everything had changed. Now, the prospect of failure as a mother was looming ever closer week by week, and though this had been what she had wanted more than ever – failure was not something she coped well with.

All this anxiety and overwrought emotion could in no way be determined as healthy and would therefore go some way in describing her current secretary's predicament.

"I thought I told you to re-arrange the meeting for _next_ Wednesday?"

Marie looked to be on the verge of tears as she quite admirably managed to at least defend herself, albeit a little weakly, "I'm sorry Dr. Cuddy, but I was sure you said for this Wednesday."

This apparently was the wrong thing to say, Cuddy continued to turn a suitable scarlet that aptly suggested she was fast reaching boiling point, "I think you're mistaken, Marie. Now if you would kindly ring Dr. Montgomery and tell him-"

She hated to do it, was petrified to speak, but necessity forced her to interrupt, "Dr. Montgomery's waiting outside," she said sheepishly.

Cuddy's eyes bulged wide, "What!"

"He's waiting-"

"I heard what you said!" Cuddy screamed. Funnily enough, Cuddy realised she was overacting, but it seemed she could do nothing to stop herself. She was acting so decidedly unlike herself, it was actually quite frightening.

"You're fired," she heard herself say with a deceiving calm. She didn't quite notice Marie's lower lip tremble at the words as she became far more occupied with the voice of the man who had happened to choose that moment to walk leisurely into her office. House had always had an added specialty in choosing his moments.

"Now?" He said, "I've stuck a thermometer up a guy's ass, I've lost you millions of dollars in donations and legal fees, and now after just simply walking through a door, you're gonna fire me?"

Cuddy looked up at him.

House recoiled almost as if being burned. Cuddy was glaring at him; furious like he'd never seen before. He swallowed; something wasn't right.

"I will, if you don't turn back around and leave this office right now."

Of course, House was never one to heed such warnings. Instead, he walked up to Marie, whose eyes were now filling with tears and said, "I'd get back to work, if I were you; I'm guessing the boss is just a little frustrated, if you get my drift," he leered suggestively, his eyes dancing merrily at the sight of Cuddy's low cut top.

"House!" Cuddy snapped.

"Told you, she just can't wait to-" Taking the advice, Marie quickly exited the room – not in the right frame of mind to take on any more sordid details to fuel the fires of constant gossiping around the hospital.

Cuddy turned on House, "What gives you the right to barge in here and interfere with my business-"

"You'll thank me in the morning," he said interrupting what was sure to be another long tirade concerning his ineptitude when it came to social skills – meaningless and drab things they were too - he never saw the point in engaging them. "You always do," he added a beat later, with the barest hint of a smile.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes, but House didn't elaborate, willingly leaving the rest up to her imagination. He was sure she could come up with something _interesting,_ which of course she did; the telling red flush creeping its way up her neck was testament to that. House smirked; Cuddy scowled and abruptly changed the subject,

"I'm assuming there was another reason for your visit, apart from un-firing my fired secretary?"

House shook his head, "Nope."

Cuddy stared at him, unaware she was ever so slightly slack-jawed. House found the sight alarmingly enticing, but his thoughts lingered no longer than a short-lived second as an entirely ugly question left her lips, "Shouldn't you be in the clinic, then?"

House rolled his eyes, "Do you eat, breathe sleep your damned clinic?"

Now Cuddy stared at him with an open mouth. He took that to be her answer in the affirmative.

He sat down on the couch – it was fast becoming his favourite seat; it had an excellent vantage point on Cuddy's ass.

Cuddy sat on her desk with a defeated sigh.

Or breasts, House mused.

Noticing he was unabashedly ogling her chest, Cuddy wasn't sure whether to laugh at his obviousness or sigh and mourn a lost cause. Instead, not sure from where her sudden spark of boldness had erupted, she leaned forward slowly, head in one hand as her elbow rested on top of her thigh.

House's eyebrows shot up by just a fraction, but it was a noticeable fraction and it made Cuddy smile surreptitiously into the palm of her hand. It was nice to finally have the upper hand in this little exchange of theirs. House was usually the one, limping in and leaving her behind to deal with her hyped up hormones – though anger and irritation were the more probable results; but this time she decided she may as well put her uncontrollable hormones to some good use. It was actually quite bizarre, how seemingly minutes ago, she had been ready to throttle Marie and had fired her over something really quite trivial, and now here she was – dare she say it – flirting with House. Not that it was being overtly done, but the tension in the room was steadily rising, and the following words did nothing to hinder it:

"No but I do eat, breathe, sleep other _things_."

House stared at her. If her body language wasn't enough to throw him off guard, the slow smile she sent his way certainly added the proverbial nail in the coffin. He was doomed. Unequivocally doomed. She had turned the tables on him; and he had been wholly unprepared for it.

He leaned back.

She leaned forward, further still.

His eyes dropped of their own will, settling comfortably on what she so willingly displayed. Two could play at this game: eyes moving slowly, deliberately, he made a show of admiring every inch of her bare skin. She flushed under his gaze, until she found herself staring straight back into his intensely blue eyes, and that was as soon as she snapped out of what strange mood had got a hold of her.

Straightening abruptly, she half jumped off the table, and quickly spun around so that only her back now faced House. She didn't see the smirk dancing across his lips as he gloated in his success, but instinct told her it was there, "Haven't you at least got some stupid video game to play, soaps to watch or Wilson to bother?"

"I'd much rather bother you," he said.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as she felt his breath tickle the curve of her neck. She didn't have time to wonder when he had moved to stand right behind her. He had moved so silently, his voice low, his tone suggestive but inexplicably almost earnest – she couldn't be sure.

She didn't want to turn around, self-preservation begged she didn't – but sheer impulse was something that could be neither ignored nor disobeyed. And so she turned around.

Her eyes were drawn instantly to his – blue on blue. They were a dark shade she had never seen on him; and their intensity both frightened and exhilarated her. She didn't know why, if she could hazard a guess, she'd blame those damned hormones wreaking havoc with her self control, but her eyes fell to his lips. They taunted her in their stillness, and realising her thought processes, her eyes instantly snapped back to his. She couldn't be sure, but they were now twinkling with laughter, and she could only blush.

"I'd really rather you bothered Wilson," she managed to say, but without any real conviction.

He smiled languorously. She had initiated this little game; it was only fair he continued it.

"You know, I don't quite believe you."

One calming breath in, and Cuddy opened her mouth to retort, but was prevented by the door of her office opening and a bashful male voice emitting a small sound of surprise,

"Oh, I'm sorry," he stuttered, "Your secretary said you were busy Dr. Cuddy, but I thought that – never mind. I'm sorry," he continued to ramble, "I'll come back another time . . ."

House let out an audible sigh of what could only be deciphered as frustration and turned around to stare at the man who had interrupted what was turning out to be a very interesting little conversation with the Dean of Medicine.

Dressed in an impeccable dark grey suit, black shirt and, damn it House thought, very pretty hair – prettier than Chase's if that were even possible, the man screamed 'put me on an aftershave advert now!' It was a pity the voice didn't reflect the confidence with which he had attired himself, or House would have felt himself threatened in his presence, but he was quite certain that Cuddy wasn't interested in this particular squeaky clean variety of men.

"Oh no, that's fine," Cuddy cleared her throat, smoothed down an invisible crease in her top, and stepped forward out from behind House, "There was just a small mix up. I actually thought the meeting was next Wednesday, not this Wednesday . . ."

Cuddy was rambling. House frowned – so maybe he wasn't as certain as he'd first thought.

He cleared his throat, reminding her of his presence.

"Oh, um," she smiled, "Dr. Montgomery, this is Dr. House, our Head of Diagnostic Medicine."

The younger man smiled, outstretched his hand, "Pleased to meet you, I've heard a lot about you."

House made no attempt to shake the proffered hand, "And I've heard absolutely nothing about you. In fact I never knew you existed," House replied with a straight face.

Cuddy glared at House, her eyes pleading him to behave, "Dr. House, this is Dr. Montgomery, Specialist in Paediatric Medicine."

It figured.

Dr. Montgomery had long since dropped his arm, realising House was not inclined to shake it, nor say much else to him as he continued to glare at him. He resisted the urge to squirm under the heat of his stare. Instead, he turned to Dr. Cuddy, and smiled rather charmingly, "If this is a bad time, we can re-arrange the meeting-"

"No, this isn't a bad time," Cuddy interjected hurriedly, "Dr. House was just leaving." She turned her eyes once again on him; meaning vividly clear, as were the implied but never uttered words, 'weren't you?'

House surprisingly nodded his head once in agreement and then to Cuddy's further surprise, or rather horror, he said, "Yes I was. We'll be finishing this little conversation later, won't we sweetheart?" Then as if she was inhabiting anyone else's body but her own, House walked past her but not before brushing against her side, leaning down and planting a firm, warm kiss on her cheek. It was fleeting, but his lips had for a single second graced her soft skin, leaving behind an invisible imprint just as the door to her office swung shut with his receding footsteps.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Damn plot bunnies, this was not my bloody intention at all – grrr.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to all of you reading, and a special thank you and chocolate chip cookies to everyone who reviewed:_ WuHaoNi, BlkDiamond, J Lesley, HotlipsPierce, visitor, Shikabane-Mai, HuddyTheUltimate, TVHollywoodDiva, Alias424, insanehouseaddict, Housefanforever08 and Critical Blues. _

**.: Chapter Nine :.**

House was in a pissy mood, and it didn't suit him in the least.

The reason, though he furiously denied it, was the sight that had greeted him as he made his way out of the elevator on his way home that night. The lights were still on in the clinic, though by any standard it should have been long closed and there should have been no living, breathing soul still in there. Yet undeniably, there were two figures standing there that he could clearly make out behind the glass doors.

Dr. I-only-care-about-kids-to-get-women-in-my-bed was standing way too close for his liking to the Dean of Medicine, and it made his insides squirm uncomfortably.

He didn't know why he had done it – but a sudden surge of primal possessiveness had taken a hold of him earlier in her office and he had kissed her, albeit just a short peck on the cheek. But that wasn't what bothered him. He wished he'd gone for her lips instead, because that single touch had wet his appetite for so much more, and he had been able to think of nothing else all afternoon. Jealousy was something he had never been able to deal well with, and he was loathe to label this particular feeling as such, but there was really no other appropriate word for it.

He'd stopped still, watching them through the glass. She was smiling a little too obligingly, and Dr. Look-at-me-I'm-so-pretty looked ready to pounce on her any second. Decision made in that single instant, he had turned towards the clinic, ready to unleash a string of words that would later cause much embarrassment, but he found himself stopping dead in his tracks. Cuddy had turned just that second, and whose eyes should she find but his.

Surprise was one emotion that registered with him, but there was an unspoken plea in them he found inexplicably hard to resist. 'Please,' she was saying, and he found himself granting her wish. Turning away, he headed straight for the exit of Princeton Plainsboro, and his blessed motorcycle.

And this would then hence explain House's pissy mood as he sat on his sofa, remote control in hand, vicodin splayed out across his stained coffee table, watching trash TV. With a hand rubbing across his face, and a tired sigh, he switched off the television, and resignedly set off to try and catch some sleep.

Sleep never graced him that night.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Stood at the nurses' station, Chase lifted his pen to hastily sign a couple of last minute forms. The morning had been hectic; his favourite patient being the four year old little girl who had found it hilarious to continually kick him in the knees as he tried to get a good look down her throat. The mother had just sat there flipping through a beauty magazine, disinterested in the diagnosis and her own daughter for that matter.

It was no surprise therefore that he was a little irritated, and it just so happened that one of the nurses was unfortunate enough to witness the first glimpse of it.

"Excuse me Dr. Chase," she had said, "The lab reports for the patient Mr. McKinney have just come in, would you like to have a look at them now?"

Chase dropped the pen and retorted a little too harshly, "I'm a little busy right now, if you haven't noticed."

The nurse stammered, "Oh I'm sorry."

Something in her tone must have caught Chase's attention as his head shot up, his expression the embodiment of remorse, "No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

The nurse smiled prettily, "Bad day?"

"Something like that."

"It's my first day," she replied eagerly.

Chase smiled, "Welcome aboard the madhouse."

"Thank you," she said. And it was then that it hit him. She was flirting with him; her body language, the irrepressible smile, the blushing cheeks – it was a sure sign. But what had him really stumped was the fact that he had no impulse to flirt back. She was nice enough, but he didn't have the energy and the ugly truth be told – he was still hung up on Cameron. Lord knew why, but he was and attempts to shun his feelings continued to fail miserably.

With an inward sigh, he forced himself to smile back and with a nod of the head, he took his leave.

Spinning around, next patient's file in hand, he had been unprepared for the sight that met him. Who should be standing yards from him, but Cameron. She wasn't looking at him, however, but her gaze was following the pretty nurse that had been talking to him just moments ago; and the expression on her face gave his hopeless heart a little jolt.

He squashed the stirrings of hope bubbling under; his mind was playing horrible tricks on him. There was no way Cameron had been jealous – it was ridiculous, wasn't it?

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A small breeze rippled past him as he sat on the wooden bench. His cane bouncing from grass to his foot and then back again repeatedly.

He was hiding, like always.

The jogging park was practically barren, excepting one man, mid-thirties (House had estimated) who had run past him only a few minutes ago with some awful noise spilling out of his iPod, which had obviously been a poor substitute for actual _music_. Crap taste in music or not, House could do nothing to stop the small twinge of envy and longing that had surged through him as the man had come bounding past. His hand unconsciously ran over his pained leg, and he popped open his vicodin with his free hand.

He dry swallowed the bitter tablets, fully accustomed to both their size and taste.

He was hiding from clinic and Cuddy, but the most important difference this time was that he was hiding from Cuddy in earnest.

Most of the time, he half wanted Cuddy to find him. Sure, she'd force him back into one of the exam rooms, but it was damned fun watching her in the process. Watching her on one of her power trips was sadistically amusing and enjoyable, no more so than in the knowledge that though she may have thought she had succeeded in manipulating him, nothing could in fact be further from the truth. All those numerous times before, House knew he had been the one in control as he sat and watched her fluster. But now, he wasn't sure that he was the one in control anymore – perhaps it had been Cuddy all along. And that just didn't sit well with him at all.

Haphazard and incomplete thoughts were left just as they were when House noticed with a mixture of happy surprise and unexplainable discomfort one Lisa Cuddy stroll into his peripheral vision.

Dressed in her winter coat, she walked towards him.

He turned slightly on his seat so that he faced her straight on.

Her hair was untied, its natural unruly curls framing her face. A small blush tinged her cheeks from the cold. It was either that, anger or embarrassment; and he would only find out for certain in a few seconds.

He waited for the inevitable statement that he should be in clinic, that he owed her however many hours of his valuable doctoring time, but to his utter astonishment, she neared him and without glancing him in the eye, sat down beside him.

A few seconds of surreal silence ensued. House's agitated cane movements continued and it was only a small sigh which announced its temporary cessation, and the following words left his lips,

"Late night out with Dr. Mountain Troll?"

He hadn't expected Cuddy's short laugh, "I offered him a job."

House shrugged, returning to his previously abandoned activity of prodding the dying grass beneath his feet, "Yeah, long distance relationships are a bitch."

"He didn't take it."

"Can't say I'm sorry."

Cuddy sighed, a tiny sign of her growing exasperation with the man sat beside her. She turned her head to face him and with an unnatural softness in tone she said, "I'm not interested in _him_."

The inflection in her words suggested something entirely implausible, and House could do nothing but look up at her. He should have found Cuddy's eyes staring back at him, but it seemed he had responded only a second too late, and she had resumed staring out into the green in front of her.

The obvious question lingered on his lips but something stopped him from voicing it.

It was back.

The weariness that had surrounded her for the last couple of weeks like some un-glorified halo was back, settling in like an unwanted cloud of devastation and gloom; which made no sense at all.

Pressing her hands on the edge of the bench, he realised she was about to push herself up and leave. Of course, not without the obligatory threat of him doing clinic duty or having his ass fired. Seeing only a window of seconds in which to act, he reached forward and grabbed her arm, "What's going on?"

Cuddy remained seated, "I have piles of paperwork to do, you're supposed to be in clinic, I've got a possible donor coming in today-"

"That's not what I meant."

A small frown creased her brow, "Well what _do_ you mean?"

House had a sneaking suspicion she knew what he meant, but for clarity's sake he said, "I thought pregnant women were meant to 'glow', instead you seem to be flickering on and off like a damn torch running on dead batteries."

Cuddy scoffed, "Who would have thought? Gregory House, a romantic. Pregnant women don't _glow_; they get bloated and fat, go pea green several times a day before throwing up down a toilet, get ridiculous cravings, get emotional over trivial things, but they certainly _don't_ glow."

"Wow," House retorted, "And who knew you were such a cynic? What I don't get though, is after knowing all that, you _still_ wanted to get pregnant?"

Clamping her mouth shut, Cuddy stood up. This time House made no attempt to stop her. He watched her walk away, take a few steps forward, hesitate, take another step, and then turn on the spot. She didn't meet his gaze as he continued to stare up at her from his position on the bench. With a calm intake of breath, she shook her head softly,

"My mom's not talking to me."

House's eyebrows shot up. He was not expecting that, "Why?" he asked slowly.

"I told her about the pregnancy, the sperm donation-"

"I thought you lie to your mother?" House couldn't help but interrupt.

Cuddy glared at him before answering, "Usually I do, but some things you just can't hide."

"So what," House shrugged, "Mrs. Cuddy not like the fact her daughter's pregnant out of wedlock, or is it the fact that her grandchild's not a hundred percent certified Jew?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "Actually it's a lot simpler than that: I'm a failure."

"Right," House drawled, "I can see how being the first female and second youngest Dean of Medicine of a renowned New Jersey hospital can be deemed a failure." The sarcasm adorned to these words was a given.

She didn't know why she was unloading this all on House. Logic argued it was because House was the only one who knew of her situation, and hence the only candidate for such a conversation; hormones argued it was all their own doing; but sense could fathom no reason for this conversation whatsoever.

"Mother's say they want their kids to do well at school, become successful adults, but truthfully all they really want is to see their child happily married, giving birth to several well-adjusted grandchildren and just living a parallel life to their parents minus all the mistakes they made in their lifetime."

House stared at her silently, processing the jumble of words that had left her mouth.

"She's angry because she thinks she's failed me as a mother."

"Well that's just stupid, if she'd failed as a mother, you wouldn't be standing here."

It only took a second for House to realise that that had been a rather insensitive and idiotic thing to say as Cuddy's ashen face stared back at him. Usually, it really didn't matter to him if what he said could be construed as an insult; in fact, he normally hoped that that would be the case. But he certainly wasn't used to the feeling of remorse that overpowered him when he had just so carelessly opened his mouth right then. The echoes of his detox and anger induced infliction of pain on the woman before him had come back to haunt him. The potency trebled in the knowledge that she had suffered a miscarriage and he could so carelessly shoot arrows so accurately to the point of maximal pain and yet be willing to do so knowing what was at stake. Subconsciously he had known that the word 'failure' could be construed in so many ways and that she would choose to hear that particular meaning, whether intended or not. But the fact remained – he had intended it; in all its ugliness, he had wanted to hurt her then; and somewhat reluctantly, he ashamedly admitted to himself that he had never truly apologised for those words he had uttered during that whole Tritter fiasco. They had simply glossed over it, ignoring and painting it over as if it had never happened.

"You're not going to fail," he said. His eyes bore into hers, imploring her to believe and trust herself, himself. It was a long overdue, undeniably deserved apology of some sort – the only type that he trusted himself to speak and trusted her to understand.

He waited.

And then she smiled. It was a small, shaky smile, but it was still there and directed at him. And he didn't know why it mattered, but it felt as if whatever had been weighing down on him so heavily for so long had lifted. Even if it was short lived, the momentary peace was something he could revel in; and as reckless as it was to his bastard persona, he smiled back.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** First week back at uni, and I'm already snowed under. Wonderful. Updates will unfortunately as a consequence be slower . . . #ducks under table#

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	10. Chapter 10

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thanks for reading; and as always, an extra special thank you to everyone who reviewed:_ HotlipsPierce, J Lesley, glicine, insanehouseaddict, Shikabane-Mai, HuddyTheUltimate, mo, TVHollywoodDiva, AllisonCammie, WuHaoNi, Cheelalaucha, Critical Blues, Alias424 and notaplayer83._

**Part Four**

_In which spilled beans cause more trouble than anticipated . . ._

**.: Chapter Ten :.**

It was a bright April morning and once again Cameron found herself fooled by the weatherman's charming smile and sham of a guarantee of sunshine, and had hence decided to walk the better part of her journey to work. Of course when it had started to rain, it was quite impossible to retract her decision, and so she could only settle to walk the remaining distance as fast as she could.

Naturally, she was soaked through to her skin; her umbrella sitting pretty but useless back in her apartment. The normally pleasant jogging park was now a muddy spectacle, and it did nothing to lift her foul mood.

She trudged on, her thoughts straying quite unwillingly to a certain blond haired Australian Intensivist who was wreaking more havoc with her delicate emotional balance than she could have ever anticipated when she had quite literally jumped into bed with him.

The benefits of twenty-twenty hindsight would have argued that the first time, drug induced as it was, should have deterred her from ever allowing a repeat of such actions. Yet, she had failed to heed all her own warnings and had only herself to blame for the sorry mess she now found herself in. On some level she had always known that her promise of not getting emotionally involved would be next to impossible to keep, and that perhaps some part of her had actually been searching for that same emotional connection as Chase. Of course, she had instantly attempted to rebuff his advances; call it a mechanism of self-preservation – a faulty one at that.

Jealousy, she realised, didn't suit her at all. The pangs she had felt of that particular emotion when she had witnessed a flirtatious encounter between Chase and another faceless nurse a couple of weeks ago, had helped that realisation come to fruition. Adding that to her growing suspicions concerning her own boss and _his_ boss, and she had to unwillingly admit that she was neither over Gregory House nor would she probably ever be. Simply put; she was hopelessly lost.

Her tangled thoughts continued to spin more intricate webs in her mind, fracturing her attention such that she almost missed the sight of a young teenage girl, not far out in front of her on the same path, suddenly scream out in pain and crumple on to the wet ground.

Cameron stopped still, a shock overpowering her so that the sight didn't register as soon as it should have done. But just as soon as it had, the instinctive doctor in her ran forward, and knelt down beside the girl. With two hands she shook her by the shoulders, one dropping further to rub hard at her sternum as she tried to rouse the fallen girl from unconsciousness.

Failing, she fished out her mobile, and wet slippery fingers dialled 911.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

With a twist of his left hand, and another furious twist of his right, the ball flew past the unsuspecting defenders and straight into the back of his opponent's net. A whoop of joy followed, accompanied by an emphatic, "he shoots, he scores!"

Wilson threw his hands up in mock surrender, "I give up," he muttered.

"Oh come on!" House scowled, "You're just a sore loser."

Wilson thought he fully deserved to mope, after all a seven-nil thrashing was still a seven-nil thrashing and not even the most lucrative journalist could put a positive spin on that.

"One more game," House didn't bother asking, he figured just saying the words could coerce Wilson into doing anything he wanted. But it seemed humiliation was a one step too far, and where Wilson, who refused to succumb any remaining shred of dignity he had left, drew the line.

He shook his head, "No, I've got an appointment with a patient."

"Liar," House smirked.

Wilson, to his credit played the affronted card like a pro, "And how would you know? Unless you've stolen my diary, pulled all my patients' records . . ." The words died on his lips. One look at House's desperate attempts to keep an innocent expression plastered on his face, and Wilson could do nothing to stop his stomach from free-falling.

" . . . you pulled my patients' records . . ." he said, "have you no concept of patient confidentiality whatsoever?"

"I was curious," House shrugged. Turning away from the soccer table in the centre of the room, he made an attempt for the door. Wilson followed in his footsteps, not at all finished with this conversation.

"You were curious?" Wilson asked incredulous, "Of what?"

"Oh come on," House said, "Don't go getting all coy on me now Jimmy. Mind you she is a babe, no wonder you kept it all so hush-hush, you sly dog, you."

A passing nurse gave them both a dirty look as they continued down the corridor; House of course being entirely oblivious.

"Caitlin, I think her name is," House smiled, "twenty eight, red head, although I don't think she will be for much longer-"

If Wilson's flabbergasted expression was anything to go by, House was pretty sure he was on target or at the very least within a few short millimetres of it.

Looking around as if to check for any possible eavesdroppers, Wilson tugged House to the side of the corridor, "It's not what you think," he whispered.

House nodded, his face telling Wilson everything he needed to know concerning his thoughts on that little white lie.

"Yes," Wilson managed to spit out, "she is a cancer patient of mine, but no I am not sleeping with her."

"Wait, I never said anything about you sleeping with her. Now why would you say that, unless of course you are, sleeping with her that is? Personally, I'm shocked Jimmy, you think you'd have learned after the last time."

Wilson shook his head, determined to plead his innocence, but it seemed House had lost all interest. His gaze was floating somewhere above and beyond his left shoulder. The slight increment in amplitude of clicking heels on the polished floor alerted all to the incoming Dean of Medicine. Even if Wilson had been deaf, there was only one person who could capture and hold House's attention like that.

"Dr. Cuddy," House yelled along the corridor, "I said I'm coming. Jesus woman, can you not bear to be without me for two minutes? It's not _my_ fault the men's toilets are out of condoms and _you_ don't carry any in your purse."

Patients and nurse alike stared at them. House couldn't have cared less, but by the look of the reddening cheeks of the woman approaching, it appeared _she_ did.

She came to a stop before them both, "I have case for you."

"Should I have a look at that before or after the sex?"

"How about now?"

"What here? Now? Why Cuddy, I didn't know you liked an audience?"

Unaffected, Cuddy continued, "Female, approximately thirteen, collapsed outside, fell unconscious at site, and only just resurfaced a few moments ago."

"So?" House shrugged.

"So," Cuddy continued, "She doesn't remember who she is, where she's from-"

"So she's a drugged up party girl, strung out on heroin - not interested."

"Cameron heard her scream out in pain just before she hit the ground."

"Cameron?" House asked.

Cuddy nodded, "She's the one who found her, brought her in. You're taking the case, House. End of story."

"But," House flounced, "Chase and Foreman are-"

"I know it's their day off, but you're _taking_ the case House."

"But-"

"Call them in."

And that apparently was the end of that particular discussion as Cuddy turned on her heels and walked back down the corridor.

House stared at her, a caustic retort sitting eager on the tip of his tongue, but Cuddy knew how to play him as well as he played her (not that House would ever admit to such a fallacy), as the extra sway in her step added to her tight grey skirt halted that retort dead and House found himself hypnotised yet again by Cuddy's ass.

She disappeared a second later, and House could only mutter, "Damn administrators."

"Uh huh."

House turned; he had completely forgotten Wilson was still stood there. And by the look on his friend's face, he realised his thoughts had strayed to that same deep dark crevice that his own mind frequently visited.

Not in the mood to share, House snapped, "You're drooling," before limping off in the opposite direction.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Short chappie there, sorry – my muse is playing hide and seek. I've counted to a thousand, and I still can't find it.

**SmilinStar **

**xxx**


	11. Chapter 11

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thanks for reading; and as always, an extra special thank you to everyone who reviewed:_ Shikabane-Mai, rosannadawson, insanehouseaddict, Cheelalaucha, Alias424, WuHaoNi, Critical Blues, starshwer, TVHollywoodDiva, HuddyTheUltimate and __Armony Wilihiem._ You guys are truly wonderful.

**.: Chapter Eleven :.**

With one arm resting upon the whiteboard and his cane hanging on the opposite side to leave his remaining hand free to spin a black marker pen between his fingers, House asked with a resounding clarity, "Any ideas people?"

There was a dumbfounded silence as his two fellows of the XY chromosome variety stared blankly at the whiteboard before them.

House mentally counted down the seconds, 'three, two-‛

"There's nothing on the board," Chase said.

If there was one thing House could always rely upon, it was Chase and his penchant for being the first to state the obvious. "Oh no there is," House responded dryly, "It's just written in _white_."

Chase opened his mouth again – confusion displayed in his eyes in abundance.

House saw it fit to interrupt him before he embarrassed himself any further. It was no show of mercy; it was just that predictability on top of gullibility was nowhere near as gratifying in the art of humiliation.

Pulling on the pen's lid, he placed the black tip on the board and started writing down symptoms and speaking simultaneously,

"Female, thirteen years of age, sudden onset of excruciating pain, fell unconscious and now can't even remember who won this years American Idol." He turned around again to face Chase and Foreman and shrugged, "But hey, even _I_ can't remember."

Any diagnostic ideas that were forming in their heads were interrupted by the glass door to the office opening and a white coated Cameron walking in.

Ignoring his third fellow, House again addressed the seated two, "And by the way, you both have Dr. Cameron here to thank for ruining the rest of your day off."

"It's not my fault she decided to keel over right in front of me."

"But it's your stupidity that had you walking out in the rain." House retorted staring quite frankly at her still wet, loosely tied hair.

Cameron huffed indignantly, "If I hadn't been out there-"

House interrupted again, "Blah, blah, blah – she'll be eternally grateful to you, doesn't mean we are."

Cameron decided it best not to answer, and Foreman who had been remarkably quiet throughout the whole conversation finally spoke up, "She won't be grateful to any of us, unless we get a move on and figure out what's wrong with her."

House nodded his head, "Which brings us nicely back to my first question, any ideas people?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Realising House's eyes were flickering to his plate full of fries at least ten times every minute; Wilson could do nothing but push his plate forward in offering.

Surprisingly House made no attempt to pick up even a single fry.

Assuming he had not made the invitation clear enough, Wilson edged the plate a fraction further with his index finger. This resulted in House shoving the plate right back at Wilson, and had it not been for Wilson's quick reflexes, it was very possible that his lunch would now be splayed across the floor of the eating area, ready in waiting for whoever's shoe soles should happen to walk by just then.

Wilson looked up at House, eyes a shade of indignation.

"I can hardly function on a bum leg; get a bum heart and I won't be able to function _at all_."

Wilson scoffed, "When has the threat of coronary heart disease ever bothered you?"

House shrugged, "Yeah, who cares about all those poor obese eight year olds. They'll probably die by the age of twenty of congestive heart failure, but so long as they get that last double cheeseburger – they're happy, so who cares?"

Wilson frowned, "Something bothering you House?"

"Everything's just peachy."

Wilson watched as House took another enthusiastic bite from his sandwich and muttered, "Sure it is."

A couple of minutes of companionable silence followed only to be broken by House's sudden loud stage whisper, "I swear her ass just keeps getting bigger. It's gotta be the eighth wonder of the world by now."

A few heads from surrounding tables whipped round but most used to House's antics ignored him outright. Cuddy happened to belong to that latter category of people who were well aware of House and his predisposition for the obscene in the most inappropriate of places as she neared the table.

Tray in hand, she sat herself down in between Wilson and House. The former made an obvious attempt to make some room for her whilst House opted to stay seated exactly as he was and stare at her with an inane smirk on his face.

"Still eating for two I see," House said with an irrevocability that anyone in the vicinity who had been fortunate enough to have not met the irascible diagnostician would have thought the words to be in truth.

Clueless as he was, Wilson missed the silent exchange that followed between his two colleagues. Cuddy predictably sent a surreptitious glare in House's direction. House made no allusion of actually noticing it, and instead chose to take another rather large bite out of his fast disappearing sandwich.

Wilson dutifully glossed over the comment and asked Cuddy with well expressed genuineness, "How's your day been so far?"

Pushing her pasta around on her plate disinterestedly, Cuddy answered with a heavy sigh, "The usual: paper work, endless phone calls, drug reps that can't take no for an answer-"

"Wow," House blew with ill sympathy, "you administrators sure know how to have fun."

Cuddy rolled her eyes at House and Wilson glowered. What that particular look was supposed to achieve, House had no idea.

"Long day then?" Wilson continued on with his inordinate conversation with Cuddy, and House nearly gagged at the sight. Wilson, what with his brown puppy dog eyes shining with sincerity and compassion both repulsed him and inflamed an inexplicable annoyance directed at his self-appointed best friend.

With a resounding smack, House dropped his half eaten lunch back on to its paper wrapper, and announced, "This is the most pointless conversation in the history of mankind."

"Last I checked," he continued, "There's still only 24 hours in a day. Unless we all happen to have been abducted to _Mars_, and that really is unlikely since we'd all be _dead_, and I'm pretty sure I'm still alive. Point is: we wouldn't be having this conversation then, now, which all in all just reiterates my point of how utterly _pointless_ this conversation is."

Cuddy raised her brows at House, Wilson displayed an even more nauseating degree of concern, "Are you sure you're ok?"

House promptly rolled his eyes and snapped, "I'm fine."

Both Cuddy and Wilson shared a look of disbelief and they were right to doubt House's assurances, because he really wasn't fine.

House had yet to acknowledge his preoccupation let alone describe his own strangely tense mood. Had he been a little less stubborn, he may have realised for himself that the object of his distraction was in fact the woman sat beside him. As it was, the very definition of House remained 'stubborn ass' or any other derivative may have done just as well.

The dire silence that was creeping in was thankfully stopped in its infancy by the arrival of Cameron waving a sheet of paper wildly in the air, followed by an equally excited Chase, and a rather less interested Foreman lagging some way behind.

"We just got back her blood test results-" Cameron started only to be interrupted by House.

"And it takes the three of you to tell me this because?"

"Her-" This time it was Chase's turn to be cut off by House; though he was a little disgruntled he'd only been allowed to spit out one word and Cameron nearly ten. It was blatant favouritism again, but he bit his tongue.

"Let me guess," the older man said, "I was right the _first_ time," he turned pointedly towards Cuddy, "She's on heroin."

"No," Cameron answered, "It's nothing like that."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at House, the look she gave him replacing the words, 'see I told you so.'

House ignored her, and turned his attention back to the three doctors stood awkwardly in between abandoned chairs, and occupied tables.

"She tested positive for HCG."

And just to make things crystal clear, Chase added, "She's pregnant."

"So?" House shrugged, "So's Cuddy."

Of course Wilson just thought this comment to be one of another in House's long list of things deemed inappropriate to remark about one's boss. But it wasn't until he noticed the widening of Cuddy's eyes and Cameron's bizarre joy at the statement coupled with the distinct lack of attempt to conceal the words, "See I told you so," as she muttered them in the general direction of Chase and his heinous yellow and green tie – did he really believe it might well be the truth.

House knew exactly what he had just said when he had said it, and not even the threat of Cuddy's wrath prevented him from saying it. He had thrown caution to the wind, be damned the consequence like always, because, well, they were all going to find out sooner or later. And as the old proverb went, there really was no time like the present.

With one hand over his mouth, one roll of the shoulder and a casually muttered "oops", House smiled insincerely at Cuddy.

She, naturally, was fuming; the red cheeks, blazing eyes and heaving chest all alluded to that notion, but what really topped it all off were the completely oblivious words that left one James Wilson's mouth;

"Wow!" he stuttered, "Congratulations!"

For his efforts he received only a glare so harsh he was sure he'd been turned to stone, "Or maybe not."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"How dare you!"

It was a miracle his tympanic membranes were still in tact and he could still hear her.

Cuddy had insisted that they continued this conversation in the privacy of her office. Although it would appear that privacy really was of little concern to Cuddy if the decibel metre was anything to go by.

"You had no right!"

"Jeez woman, are you trying to burst my eardrums?"

"Yes!" Cuddy screeched, "Oh and I'd like to smash your thick skull into a tiny thousand pieces while I'm at it!"

"You know violence really doesn't solve anything. Have you thought about anger management?" The words were dripped in condescension – not at all wise with a hormone raging, furious as hell pregnant woman standing right in front of you.

Cuddy let out a noise that acutely resembled frustration as she collapsed on to her sofa, head in hands. "This is not how I wanted the hospital to find out."

"What, you were going to send out departmental memos?" House replied, "Cool."

Cuddy didn't think so.

House shrugged, "they were going find out sooner or later - unless you were planning on hiding the baby bulge in a fat suit."

Cuddy groaned into her hands, "the hospital board is going to be so pissed I didn't tell them first."

"It's none of their business."

"It's none of yours," Cuddy snapped.

"Hey look I didn't know they were going to believe me, but more importantly you could have flat out denied it. See I think part of you wanted them to find out, so you wouldn't have to tell them yourself." A beat of silence was followed up with a strangely calm and gentle, "What are you so afraid of Cuddy?"

Startled blue eyes locked on to his, and all she could manage with a small quiver of her bottom lip was to softly plead, "Leave House, please just leave."

She couldn't be sure, but for just a single second, a muted disappointment had burned behind his blue irises; but the sight all but vanished as his expression hardened, and with a nod of his head, he turned and left her alone to sort out the mess he'd left in his wake.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Please review.

**SmilinStar **

**xxx**


	12. Chapter 12

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to all of you reading. But an especially massive thank you to: _Metaphoric.Love, Eleanor J., insanehouseaddict, HuddyTheUltimate, Shikabane-Mai, Cheelalaucha, TVHollywoodDiva, Critical Blues, tvkid84, Gertrude2034, Alias424, Datsamazin', geminiginny and margret2u _for taking the time to leave me such wonderful reviews.

**.: Chapter Twelve :.**

"You're an idiot," Wilson remarked not for the fifteenth time that week, "She told you something in confidence-"

"I told you, _I_ figured it out," House huffed, his cane by his side as he limped into the hospital, ready for another day's work, "I told _her_ she was pregnant, not the other way round."

"Same difference," Wilson shrugged off, "she still asked you not to say anything and you had to open your mouth anyway."

"Of course I had to open my mouth, can't say anything then can I? I'm not a ventriloquist," he visibly shuddered, "they're _freaky_."

"You should apologise."

"Ha!" House scoffed, "I did her a favour."

"Yeah, well tell that to her when she comes out of todays board meeting."

House stopped in his tracks, "There's a board meeting today?"

Wilson stopped a few paces ahead, realising belatedly House was no longer at his side. He turned around, "Yes."

"Then you can-"

"No," Wilson interrupted, waving his hands in front of him, "I'm not going to be your go between."

"I wasn't going to ask you to be," House replied petulantly, though it failed to deter from the earnestness of the request that followed; "Just let me know how it goes."

Wilson eyed him carefully. His friend hadn't shaved in quite a while, that of course was no major shock; his shirt was crumpled beyond repair, but that wasn't what caught his attention either. It was the bags under his eyes, the tired, sullen expression he seemed to be sporting the whole of this week. He had never known House could feel such a thing as remorse but it seemed his friend was drowning in it. But it couldn't just be this whole deal with Cuddy either, his gaze dropped down to his leg unwillingly. It wasn't his overactive imagination, but it seemed House's gait had an added level of pain attributed to it, and he could do nothing to quell the surge of pity and sympathy that rose within him.

House sighed. "The leg's fine," he said almost as if reading his mind. But the two vicodin tablets he swallowed just then would be an indication to the contrary.

Wilson nodded his head in acceptance, but that didn't mean he believed him.

He turned to walk away, but as if remembering something he had forgotten to say, he turned back. House hadn't left his spot. "You should ask her yourself."

And then he really did leave House, heading straight for the elevators.

With another heavy sigh, House looked up at the ceiling as if the lights would tell him what he should do. With a tap of his cane, he changed direction.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

She was fuming. The, blood pulsing through her vessels, red in the face, hair wild, might just snap the neck of the next living creature that so much as stepped into her view, type of fuming.

With a force deemed entirely unnecessary she flung the door to her office open – another sign of anger if it hadn't been made abundantly clear already. Furious fingers undid the buttons of her suit jacket and she shrugged it off before throwing it haphazardly on to her chair.

One hand on her nape, another at her hip, she walked towards her window, and with a loud sigh she continued to stare out at the sight in front of her; her arms now folded around her.

"Please tell me the shirt's next?"

She couldn't help but jump a little at the voice, though that in no way meant she was surprised.

She didn't turn around, "What the hell are you doing in my office House?"

House shrugged, "I thought that's obvious. I am on time for the three o' clock stripper-gram, aren't I?"

Cuddy spun on the spot, "You know, _you _really are the _last_ person I want to see right now."

"So that's a no then?"

Another sigh, "Get out House, _now_."

House was always one to pick and choose when it was appropriate to follow the Dean of Medicine's orders; and now really wasn't one of them.

Instead, he took a few cautious steps towards her, "You aren't seriously still angry about that little thing," he indicated the word 'little' with his thumb and index finger, "I let slip last week, are you?"

She had moved away from the window, and was now standing behind her desk, her hands gripping the backrest of her chair, knuckles turning just a little whiter with each step he took closer.

"Of course I'm still angry!"

Her coloured cheeks and heaving bosom backed the screamed words – and House was loving every minute of the display.

Part of him believed her; it was hard not too. But the other part of him, the part that knew the Lisa Cuddy from their days at Michigan, knew that she could never hold a grudge for long. And that fact was especially true when it came to him and his proclivity to incessantly piss her off and push her to her limits. Cuddy never hated him for long – she was simply physically incapable of doing so.

He decided to test his hypothesis as he smirked at her, and then rounded the table to now stand right in front of her, "No you're not."

A hot flush was creeping up her neck, and she hoped her residual anger would mask her state of fluster adequately enough to not attract further attention. Blasted hormones – they had her on a perpetual merry-go round, and didn't seem to be willing to release her anytime soon.

Her obvious attempt, however, to create a distance between herself and House, detracted from this goal as she found House's grin grow wider when she sidestepped past him to now take up his previous position on the other side of her desk.

Truth be told, and damn the man to hell, but her anger had started to fade the minute the man had announced his impromptu presence and proceeded to smirk at her – in a way that was all too familiar and comfortable. She was angry, yes. She had every right to be. But House, like he always seemed to be nine point nine times out of ten, had been right. She had been scared of announcing her pregnancy – scared for so many different, some irrational, others not so much, reasons. Some of which she didn't quite yet understand, acknowledge let alone accept as an explanation for her great number of fears. But those thoughts were far too hard to even attempt to dissect, and all she could manage for the moment was to try to make sense of this encounter.

"What do you want, House?"

"How did it go?"

"How did what go?" She asked with surprise, entirely unprepared for the seriousness with which he had spoken. She had all but expected some customary lewd comment to leave his mouth as it usually did with little to no inhibition, but instead she was thrown off course with his question. But then when had House ever been predictable? It was perhaps his very unpredictability which usually brought her strange comfort.

"The board meeting," House answered again with undisguised odd sincerity.

Cuddy opened and closed her mouth – not entirely sure what she was supposed to say or what it was exactly that he wanted to hear.

Pulling out her chair, he sat down in it with all the languor of someone who knew its usual occupant well enough to realise it would incite in her an irritation that would direct them towards a little normalcy.

He grinned up at her – his finishing touch.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, releasing an aggravated sigh, "How do you think it went? They're all chauvinistic, sexist pigs who think they can do my job better than me, just because I was graced with a uterus and wide hips to bear children. It's like we're stuck living in the dark ages and the women's movement never even happened."

"Well if it were the dark ages, then technically the women's movement hasn't happened," House said with little help and even less innocence than his expression would have one believe.

Cuddy was far too gone to hear him as she continued on, "All those snide congratulations and 'oh do ask for any help if you need it'," she said mimicking words she had heard far too often in just the space of an hour. "I mean seriously," she ranted as she collapsed on to her sofa, "since when could pregnancy be equated with Alzheimer's?"

House cocked an eyebrow, "Is that a metaphor?"

Cuddy stared at him incredulously for a second before snorting, "They think I'm going to need help running the hospital – and want to discuss dividing my workload."

"I don't know about you," House said, sitting up a little straighter, "but I've always belonged to the school of logic that says a divided workload equals less work, and less work is always a _good_ thing."

"It's just another attempt to undermine me," Cuddy sighed.

"Why would they want to do that?"

Cuddy glared up at him, her expression a perfectly adequate substitution for the words, 'do you really have to ask?'

"Me?" House asked with a mixed air of feigned disbelief and indignation.

That fact didn't really come as much of a surprise to him. He knew, but never really outwardly acknowledged, how far Cuddy had stuck out her neck for him on more occasions than it was possible to count single-handedly. If it hadn't been for her, he would have been tossed out on his ass on his first day of work years ago. Without Cuddy there to bat for him, the board would have reached the unanimous decision to fire him in a heartbeat. He owed a lot more to Cuddy than he would ever admit to.

"Hey it's not my fault they were all born with balls for brains, and twenty times too much testosterone."

"Dr. Mϋller's a woman."

"Really?"

Cuddy couldn't help but laugh at the genuineness of his surprise.

He looked utterly stunned, "I always thought she was a man dressed in drag."

That tore another laugh from Cuddy's mouth, but House wasn't smiling. Instead he was staring at Cuddy much too intently. Lips stretching into an unsure smile, Cuddy looked back up at him as she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, "What?"

It seemed several minutes passed before House replied, though in reality it was only a matter of seconds for him to think better of what he had initially intended to say, and respond instead with an altogether untruthful, "Nothing."

Cuddy frowned, but House had stood up and had made a pronounced move towards the door to pay any more attention to her. He limped right past her, and it wasn't hard to miss the added awkwardness in his gait now that she was actually looking and not outright ignoring him.

"House," she called out to him, with a softness seeping into her voice only to be mistook for pity, "your leg-"

"Is fine," House snapped, not shooting her even a glare – opting instead to open her office door and brush through.

She watched, biting her lower lip as his back disappeared from view.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Please review and share your thoughts.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to:_ Shikabane-Mai, insanehouseaddict, HuddyTheUltimate, Mrs.Scott323, LordXwee, TVHollywoodDiva, Cheelalaucha, HotlipsPierce, geminiginny, jaytee, Alias424, margret2u and mandymuggle. _You guys are so fantastic, hence why I must profusely apologise for the long wait. Apparently the words 'spare' and 'time' no longer exist in tandem in my vocabulary bank. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy the chap . . .

**.: Chapter Thirteen :.**

There was a determined knock on his door.

The knock itself was a clue as to who his mystery visitor was _not_, and the only candidate unsurprisingly was House – he had yet to master the concept that knocking before entering was a must of polite society. House was neither polite nor sociable, and so that particular notion fell on deaf ears.

His pen remained balanced between his fingers, a patient file open before him, but before he had even opened his mouth to utter the words 'come in,' he found the door being forced open.

His initial thought was that maybe it was House after all, but the glimpse of dark curly locks made it quite clear his original assumption had been uniformly wrong.

"Cuddy?" Wilson asked as she shut the door softly behind her. He waited for her to turn around to face him but she didn't. Instead she walked over to the glass door that lead outside on to the small balcony and stopped. The sight screamed déjà vu and he could do nothing to stop his worry lacing the words, "Is something wrong? Has something happened?"

A patent sigh left her lips before she turned slightly, her gaze still not quite meeting his own. "Has-" she faltered slightly, "Has House said anything to you recently about . . ." she drifted off again.

"About what?" Wilson prompted. It figured this conversation would revolve entirely around their mutual friend House. Only he was capable of adding those extra creases of stress and worry to Cuddy's brow – and somehow it did not surprise him in the least.

"His leg," Cuddy finally said – eyes now firmly fixed upon his face.

He dropped his pen and leant back further in his seat. "No," he answered.

Cuddy nodded and turned away again.

"Why?" Wilson asked, though he had a nagging suspicion he knew already – he had noticed it too.

"He's been ignoring me for the last week."

"But he's been doing his clinic hours?" Wilson asked brows furrowed in mild confusion, he hadn't been expecting that to fly out of her mouth.

Cuddy nodded, "Exactly. When does House willingly do clinic?"

Wilson had no answer immediately forthcoming.

"He does clinic," Cuddy continued, "No reason for me to seek him out. He has no cases; no reason for him to seek me out."

"Isn't that a good thing? Maybe House is just getting on with his work – and you're reading too much into it," Wilson tried justifying.

Cuddy shook her head, "No. No, that's not it. You've noticed it too – his leg's getting worse."

They were back to the leg. Wilson again had no answer - though he willed it not to be, he knew it was true. She wasn't the only one who had noticed, brought it up with the man, and had as a result received the House brush-off this entire week.

"We can't help him," he said – regret with a hint of guilt palpable.

The same sentiments seemed to be radiating off Cuddy in tangible waves – the only difference was a growing desperation to battle the hopelessness they both basked in and _do_ something about it.

"Talk to him," she said with a strong steady voice that made it appear under-laced with all the essence of a flagrant order.

Wilson nodded; daring not to disobey and, more importantly, disappoint.

She made no acknowledgement of his affirmation and instead made straight for the door, leaving Wilson sat as he had been for the past hour or so, wondering just what had happened to turn things into a ghost of its normal order of ways.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Morbidly obese was apparently the pinnacle of the hierarchy of the varying degrees of fatness.

House begged to differ if the patient sat in front of him was anything to go by. He could add one more layer to that diagrammatical pyramid and it was as follows; because truthfully there was nothing worse than a morbidly obese person who also happened to be _denser than a housefly_.

"You want what?" House repeated for the fifth time in a row. He'd heard him the first time – but it was damned funny hearing him trying to pronounce the word.

"Ro, ra, um rusu-" he gave a defeated sigh, and just handed House the piece of paper on which he had been attempting to read off.

"Rosuvastatin?" House asked, eyebrows quirked as if to ask why someone who weighed more than a baby elephant would be interested in a cholesterol lowering drug – if he even knew what it was. That was highly doubtful and his conjecture was only confirmed a mere second later when his patient opened his mouth.

"Yeah, my friend says it's a miracle drug. He says he read an article on it and apparently it helps you lose 5 kilos in five days."

House could no longer contain himself. He let out a guffaw so loud, his patient jumped ramrod straight – quite literally shaking the room around him in the process.

"Yeah," House nodded once he was back to breathing a regular rhythm, "It totally does that."

The guy's face lit up like a hundred watt bulb, "Really?"

House bit down on his smirk, "Totally."

"Awesome."

Technically giving a patient false medical information and advice would almost probably result in some form of legal action against him or even the hospital. That threat alone would never deter House from actually going ahead with sharing said false information. In this case – that prospect was not even entertained in House's mind for he was nearly hundred percent sure that the patient in front of him lacked the required number of brain cells to come up with the idea of suing as even just a passing thought.

With a flourish of his pen he signed the prescription and passed the slip into the jubilant chubby hands of the dimwit in front of him and then limped out of the exam room.

Once back out into the clinic he dropped the patient's file into the already examined tray. He had to overreach slightly to put them away – some damn nurse had moved them again and he could do nothing but curse them for a second time when an altogether familiar twinge of pain surged up his right leg. He muted the hiss of pain that would have otherwise left his lips with reckless abandon and instead expertly swallowed another two vicodin. Dropping the orange bottle back into his jacket's pocket, he found himself looking up just a second too soon.

She was staring at him; an ugly frown masking her normally beautiful face. He didn't ponder for even a millisecond that he had just referred to Cuddy - his boss, the administrator, or the devil incarnate as he liked to affectionately call her – beautiful. His brain skipped right over that and instead on the startling sight of her schooling her face into a neutral expression and turning away from him to talk to a nurse. The surprise that she had not confronted him, had outright ignored him, hit him like the spray of a cold shower. But then the surprise was short-lived: as he watched her walk away back to her office, he realised he was to blame – she was only giving him the space he had desperately cleaved this entire week; and yet he could not fathom why he had actually wanted her to disregard his silent plea and confront him about the pills, about his leg, about his work – about everything.

But then he wasn't being honest with himself. Again.

He knew why he had sought the space and solitude. He knew what it was that was festering in his mind. And he knew what it was doing to him – manifesting into a worsening pain in his right leg. A phantom pain that felt entirely too real – but he was no shrink, and he promptly discarded the idea.

The next patient file lingered a few finger widths away on the desk of the nurse's station. But his hand never moved that short distance to pick it up; the desire to bury himself in clinic work vanishing almost as quickly as it had initially appeared not two hours ago.

He turned on the spot, walking cane ever present beside him and made his way over to the elevators. Unbeknownst to him, two blue eyes watched him leave.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Wilson was sat in his chair – spinning in his seat behind his desk. House had half expected that particular sight to greet him as he pushed open the glass door to his office.

An array of apt quips flitted through his mind, but he seemed to find little left in his reserves, emotional exhaustion overpowering him and leaving him to settle on the words, "What do you want?"

He shrugged off his jacket, throwing it over the coat rack stood in the corner.

Wilson easily brushed aside the question, and then opted to ask one of his own, "What's going on House?"

House's sardonic smile and failure to meet Wilson's eyes immediately discredited the single word answer which henceforth left his mouth, "Nothing."

Wilson snorted, "No," he said shaking his head, "Something's up – and the fact you have no witty comebacks and one-liners says it's something huge."

"You know," House said, face grim as he walked up to Wilson, "You should never have specialised in psychiatry."

He prodded Wilson with his cane – his way of saying 'please move out of my seat,' just without the _please, _of course.

Wilson looked up at House, a little less sure of himself and looking a little more confused. He remained unfazed by House's incessant prodding, but nevertheless vacated his seat. On standing he said, "I didn't."

"Good," House deadpanned as he now sat down in _his_ chair – the way it should be, "Because you suck at it."

"You don't need a psych degree to know something's bothering you."

"Apparently _you _do."

Wilson threw his hands up in frustration, "Your leg's hurting."

"No I just like walking around with a cane because it's so _cool_."

"No," Wilson tried again, this time with a deep breath in - he figured the more oxygen, the better because he most definitely needed it if he was to prevent himself from passing out from exhaustion, "It's hurting _more."_

"Oh give me a break," House had had enough. Yes his leg was hurting. Yes it was a right pain in the ass – figuratively speaking of course. But what he really didn't need was someone else psychoanalysing it for him. Not when his own brain had been working overtime to do just exactly that. No, he didn't particularly enjoy it or want it, for that matter, but his bloody leg was his most bafflingly irresolvable puzzle yet.

"Do you have a chunk of muscle missing in _your_ leg? Have you been holding out on me Jimmy, when we could be having these wonderful bonding sessions over just how much pain we're both in?"

House stared up at his friend – eyes wide in accusation, fingers gripping the edge of his table; the anger and desperation flaring off him in hot livid bursts.

Hurt flashed across Wilson's face, but it was gone the moment it registered. He nodded once, and turned on his heel to leave.

House watched as his friend left; the glass door shutting slowly and soundlessly, inch by inch behind him. Dropping his head into his hands, he half growled in frustration.

Wilson was right. Something was bothering him – but it wasn't what he thought it was.

It wasn't the leg. In fact, the pain was a by-product of what was truly wrong. And for once in his life, he had no bright ideas as to how to solve the puzzle right in front of him.

The real problem, however, was that he couldn't really attempt to solve the puzzle, unless he accepted it was there in the first place.

And accepting the fact that his growing attraction to the Dean of Medicine was verging on something more, something just as unexplainable and unwanted as the throbbing pain in his right leg, was just not something he was prepared to do.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2: **Angst, Angst, Angst.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	14. Chapter 14

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to:_ Critical Blues, glicine, insanehouseaddict, __Armony Wilihiem,_ _Wolf Maid, LordXwee, Gertrude2034, HuddyTheUltimate, Alias424, TVHollywoodDiva, Mishelle20 and Senator Elizabeth Organa _for reviewing. You guys make be unbelievably happy.

**Part Five**

_In which second tries prove more fruitful . . ._

**.: Chapter Fourteen :.**

Cameron was smiling at her. Again.

It was like the woman was possessed – and had never been in the presence of a pregnant female before.

She gritted her teeth and attempted to smile back. She probably looked constipated, but it was the best she could muster, "Something I can help you with Dr. Cameron?"

They were standing around in the clinic. Patients were being examined around them, doctors and nurses running to and from exam rooms; nothing out of the ordinary – but why did it feel like the twilight zone?

"Nothing," Cameron said – smile widening to epic proportions.

Cuddy nodded. The girl obviously had some issues.

"How are you?"

Normally seen as an inconspicuous and harmless question – it was anything but when it left the lips of one Allison Cameron.

"I'm fine," Cuddy replied.

"Good. That's good."

"Yes," Cuddy said slowly, at Cameron's obvious nervousness, "Very good."

The woman was still staring at her. It was a look that screamed, 'I have something to ask you, but I damn well know it's none of my business.'

"Anything else I can help you with Dr. Cameron?" Cuddy thought she'd lend her a helping hand in spitting out whatever it was that she was desperate to ask – though she was fairly sure she knew just what exactly was on her mind. The entire staff of the hospital were just dying to know too.

But it appeared, asking _the_ question about the paternity of her baby was something the younger woman had yet to work up the courage to ask as her cheeks blushed pink and she shook her head in the negative, "No, nothing. I have a patient in exam three I should really be getting back to."

Cuddy made no reply as Cameron hurried past her.

Oh well, Cuddy mused, she would most likely be having another encounter just like this one before the day was out. Human nature, after all, was fairly predictable. She thought _fairly_ of course to allow for those few and far between anomalies that always seemed to pop up like some blip on the radar. Only one anomaly came to mind, however, and it went by the name Gregory House.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Sat back in his chair, journal open, Foreman was enjoying the rare silence and solitude of the conference room. Of course, he should have known that the prospect of just a few more minutes of peace was too good to be true.

"Where's Chase and Cameron?"

Foreman didn't look up at House to answer the question, "Cameron's in the clinic, Chase is in NICU."

"Heroin girl hasn't had the baby yet, what's Chase doing in NICU?"

Foreman rolled his eyes, "Heroin girl doesn't take heroin."

House ignored him as he pushed open the connecting glass door to his own office and walked through.

Foreman shut his journal with a heavy sigh, and reluctantly followed his superior into the next room.

"What are you doing?" Foreman asked as he watched House abandon his cane, and painfully stoop over to ransack his bookshelf behind his desk.

House didn't answer, and instead asked, "When's she leaving?"

"Who?" Foreman asked bewildered and irritated.

"Heroin girl, duh?" House replied flippantly, looking back at his fellow briefly over his shoulder before continuing his search for goodness knew what.

"This afternoon."

"Damn it!"

His eyebrows furrowed some more as he asked, "Why? Is there something else wrong with her?"

It appeared House was no longer interested – as brief a period of interest it had been – but anyway, he was now looking skyward, lines of frantic thinking marring his forehead.

And then there it was - that slow smile that had spread across his face numerous times before with countless life changing epiphanies.

He headed straight for the door, but not before collecting his discarded cane and shouting a retort to Foreman's question, "Yeah," he said, "She's on heroin."

With that the glass door shut behind him, leaving Foreman to roll his eyes again and ask whoever was listening what exactly he had done (apart from stealing a few cars) to have deserved this.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"I want it back."

Wilson dropped the pen in his hand to look up at the man who had just strode into his office, door wide open, staring down at him with all the theatrics of a pantomime villain or hero – he wasn't entirely sure which. Although if House was cast as the hero, that would make him the villain by default. Perhaps it was just best to cast House as himself.

"Want what back?"

"My book."

"Which book?" Wilson asked the obvious – entirely clueless.

What followed was quite a sight and one which Wilson was unlikely to forget for a long time indeed.

House appeared to struggle with the words that next left his mouth:

"My recipe book."

"Your what?" Wilson nearly choked on his own saliva.

"Oh you know what I'm talking about," House snapped, his patience waning, "Just give it back."

"Why?"

"I need it."

"Why?" A smirk was becoming increasingly evident upon Wilson's face. He was enjoying this.

"I know you took it Wilson."

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about. Frankly, I'm surprised you even bought yourself a cookbook."

"My mother bought it for . . . look would you just give it back. I need it."

"Why?"

House groaned, "I need it to diagnose my patient."

As ridiculous as House's answer sounded, Wilson batted neither eyelid as he asked incredulous, "Heroin girl?"

House nodded, "That's the one."

"Exactly what _kind_ of recipe book is it?" Wilson asked, disgusted.

"Never mind," House gave up.

That in itself was so odd, that as Wilson watched to turn him leave, he decided to take pity on his friend and called out after him.

House stopped and watched as Wilson fished out a moderately sized hardback book and handed it over to him.

"You keep this here?" House asked, eyebrows raised, "If I was going to steal something, I'd at least take it home."

Wilson snorted, "You're the one who had it in his bookshelf full of books on infectious diseases and parasitic worms."

House shrugged his shoulders to admit as much.

"So why do you need it?"

But House just shot him a smile, and limped out his office.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It appeared the week long (or however the hell long it had been) avoidance was now well and truly over. The doors to her office sprung open, and lo and behold who should be stood there, but Dr. Gregory House himself.

She opened her mouth and stared at him. She didn't bother to ponder the ridiculous expression she was now sporting, but rather found her surprise at finding him standing in her office turn into a surprise of an altogether different sort.

He looked _better_.

He was standing a little straighter. The grimace of pain he had been desperately trying to hide behind his perpetual mask of glibness and indifference could no longer be detected even under intense scrutiny. But it wasn't just his leg that appeared better. His shirt was _ironed_. His hair was just the right side of _tidy_ yet dishevelled all at the same time - making him all the more devastating. He was beaming at her – and she was instantly thrown back two decades ago to her former overeager student self and when she had first met the man stood in front of her. He looked so startlingly alike the young, handsome version of himself she had forever imprinted in her mind. But time inevitably changed people – infarctions and incriminations changed them both. Unexpected and uninvited pangs of sadness clawed at her heart at the realisation halting the smile that would have otherwise spread across her face in response to House's own grin.

"Finally decided to grow up and stop ignoring me then?"

House's smile disappeared. Half of her missed it; the other half blew a silent breath of relief. Normality is what they needed. She didn't understand what the past week had been about or what exactly it was that she was supposed to have done – if she had done anything at all and if it was in fact just some inner turmoil House himself had to work through alone. She wasn't self-absorbed enough to think that maybe it had had absolutely nothing to do with her, but that didn't mean she wasn't curious enough to ask;

"Care to explain just exactly why you were ignoring me?"

"The girls were ignoring me, so I decided to ignore them," House replied, his line of sight on the high neck line of her top, and Cuddy's decidedly under-exposed cleavage.

"Well, if it's just done buttons on my shirt that sends you to clinic and actually gets you to do your _work_-"

"Don't even think about," House interrupted, taking a few steps forward into her office, "You can't starve the girls from sunlight, they need their fair share of vitamin D. Can you imagine what they'd look like if they got rickets?" He followed that question with a visible shudder of disgust.

She couldn't help it as a laugh escaped her lips.

She had missed this. She was glad he had sorted out whatever it was that he needed to, because the ugly truth be told, she had missed _him_. She had worried about him endlessly this past week but it had all stemmed from the simple fact that she had truly _missed_ him.

"What's happening with your patient?" she asked, steering the conversation to safer ground.

"Going home tomorrow – but you would know that already right, since you would have given it the go ahead?"

Cuddy silently cursed the man's intelligence.

He sat down in the arm chair in the corner. It was a fair distance from her seat behind the table, but as his blue eyes pinned her to the spot, the room felt several metres smaller.

Cuddy shifted in her chair. "Of course, I already know that, I'm just checking _you_ do."

House sent her a slow smile that told her all she needed to know as to whether he had fallen for a single word of her retort. The answer, unsurprisingly, was no. She felt her skin prickle with uncomfortable heat – it was either the embarrassment or his penetrating gaze that did it. Logic would have given her the answer straight away, but irrationality always seemed to prevail in these situations and she quite stupidly pegged it down to the former.

"Is there anything in particular that you came here to do, apart from trying to sneak a glance at my _rack_?"

House's lips twitched, but the smile didn't grow any larger, "Yes."

Cuddy wasn't surprised in the least at his response. House always had reasons for his antics – bizarre and unpredictable as they usually were, but she could always count on him and his spontaneity.

"And what is it exactly that you want House?"

A silence followed that seemed to extend several minutes too long as he stared at her. The smile had all but left his face, his expression tightly closed off and entirely too serious.

"I want you."

The delivery of the line was perfect. Constructed such that it would provoke the maximum reaction possible, and the results were oh so glorious.

Eyes wide, mouth open – the colour drained from her face so that all that stood out were her invitingly bright red lips and disbelieving beautiful blue eyes. He half wished he could capture the sight in indelible coloured ink, honing in on those precious flecks of dark blue in her irises and the blush that seemed to blossom over her cheeks. It was, therefore, with great regret that he let the rest of his sentence escape his lips.

"To have dinner with me on Friday night," he finished. His own eyes sparkling with mischief to quite masterfully conceal his own anxiety and the barely recognisable fragility of his hope.

Colour shortly suffused back into her skin to even the blush that stained her cheeks as she comprehended the words. She shifted noticeably in her seat and cleared her throat;

"Your-" she stopped, cleared her throat again, regaining what she had lost in both composure and confidence, "Your pay cheque's in the mail. You'll get it Thursday, so make yourself, or rather; order in yourself a large meal for _one_. I'm busy Friday night."

House smirked as he watched her attempt to return to the paperwork she had discarded on his arrival.

"Ok fine," he said standing up.

Cuddy mistakenly assumed this to mean he had given in and was about to leave, and had therefore allowed herself to sneak a glance back up at him.

She, of course, really shouldn't have done so.

He was now standing right in front of her desk. With two very obvious hands placed on the wooden surface, his cane placed strategically so that it hung there effortlessly, he leaned over. His eyesight was now level with her own – only a few precious inches away.

"How about Saturday night?"

Cuddy couldn't think. Come to think of it; she couldn't really breathe very well either.

"Or we could always try Sunday."

He was still talking, but Cuddy barely noticed; for all that seemed to be pounding through her head like a jackhammer was that he was certainly _not_ drunk, and that more importantly, he was unwaveringly determined to get her to say _yes_.

Words lingered fruitlessly on the tip of her tongue, but House saved her the trouble. The word 'saved', needless to say, used as loosely as the intricacies of linguistics allowed.

"Sunday night it is."

With that inarguable statement, announcing the end of this abrupt and unexpected conversation, House turned and left. Limping away, with a small smile etched on to his face – Cuddy saw nothing but the back of his grey jacket as he disappeared from view.

And all she could ask herself as she continued to sit in a daze was exactly this:

"What the hell had just happened?"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Please review. Feedback is craved and cherished.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


	15. Chapter 15

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to:_ Cheelalaucha, glicine, __Senator Elizabeth Organa, Shikabane-Mai, stashthesocks, Mrs.Scott323, TVHollywoodDiva, insanehouseaddict, HuddyTheUltimate, Nicole, LordXwee, Critical Blues, notaplayer83, PhoenixStAr2, Merlynnod, AdeleParker, Casper1311, Alias424, Gertrude2034, Hanniballover1181 and NcisRocks13 _for all the wonderful reviews! You guys are awesome.

**.: Chapter Fifteen :.**

Not even burying her head deep into work could make Sunday roll around any slower. She had tried numerous times throughout the week to confront House and tell him that she most definitely could not make Sunday, or any night in the foreseeable future. But that would have been a gross lie. And though she could lie to her mother; lying to House was an entirely different prospect – and one that could never have a favourable outcome.

She had resigned herself to the fact that Sunday night was indeed happening. But until then, she kept telling herself that she didn't have to turn up. Nothing in their rather one-sided conversation had necessitated that she attended this da- whatever the hell it was.

Stumbling out of bed on Sunday at ten in the morning, it wasn't until she stood staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror; her hair a messy array of curls and wayward, misbehaving strands, her eyes dark and set from the previous night's fitful tossing and turning, that she realised the exact reason House had quite purposefully chosen Sunday to torment her.

He was well aware that this particular Sunday was her day off – a day in which the excuse "I'm busy" or "I have work to do" would simply never make the final cut. Even Deans of Medicine needed to work weekends. It was a sad fact that infections and viruses, accidents and emergencies, and pregnant women giving birth _never_ took the weekends off. He of course had to have chosen the only Sunday she had had off for nearly three weeks. She groaned out loud, clutching her forehead – bemoaning the injustice.

Staring morosely at her toothbrush, she turned and took one step out of the bathroom and headed straight back to bed.

Another three hours of fretting over tonight should make things a little clearer - she hopelessly tried to convince herself of this, although she knew full well the improbability of such an event.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

His phone rang.

He could hear it shrieking from somewhere. He cursed it – either aloud or in his head. The profanities justified as he found himself being pulled unwillingly from peaceful slumber; wherein dark blue eyes smiled upon him and hues of vibrant greens, blues and brown blurred past him, the wind frightening, exhilarating as it pushed him onwards, never stopping, just on and on. . .

The phone rang again.

One hand begrudgingly reached out from under the covers, blindly reached out for the phone and he proceeded to bark half asleep into it,

"_What_?"

"Good morning to you to."

"Jeez Wilson, just because you're awake at this ungodly hour, doesn't mean we all are."

"It's ten thirty."

"So?" He yawned. Loud.

Unseen by House, Wilson moved his receiver several centimetres away from his ears at the inhuman sound.

"So," Wilson continued, once he was quite recovered, "You should be here, at the hospital. _Working_."

"Cuddy?" House deadpanned, "Is that you? You sound like, wait a minute, a _man_. Come to think of it, it's a bit of a turn on – that deep, sexy-"

Wilson cut in, "Very funny. I'm doing you a favour."

"Oh relax. Cuddy doesn't care."

"Oh really, and how exactly did you come to that masterful conclusion?"

House shuffled down a little further in his bed; his head resting comfortably against his pillow.

"She's very busy today. _Very_ busy."

"Is that a euphemism for something I really don't want to know about?"

There was a short silence.

"Oh my god! She isn't there with you, like, right now, is she?"

House chuckled, "You, Wilson, have a dirty mind. Relax, she's not here. I meant busy as in date busy."

"Date busy," Wilson repeated as if temporarily stunned by a ray gun.

House said nothing, a small grin spreading across his face as he pictured his friend's face right at that particular moment. It was probably bordering somewhere between shock, confusion and dawning horror.

He waited for the pin to finally hit the shiny surface of the polished floor:

"You've got a date with Cuddy?"

But House didn't answer that question either. Instead, he put his phone down, so that all that rang in Wilson's ear was the tone of the disengaged phone line, and his own unanswered query.

House's grin only grew wider.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It was surprisingly bright for 5am on a Sunday, but that didn't mean Cameron craved the warmth of her bed back in her apartment any less. The idea of just two hours in bed was enticing yet unfortunately entirely unobtainable as she had in fact spent the entire night at the hospital, in the lab, running countless pointless tests on their patient. The closest she would come to actually sleeping on a bed was in fact the couch in the doctors' lounge. But even that possibility appeared to be eluding her.

The room was silent; all except for the muted mutterings of the B-list actors on the television screen. The room was thrown into darkness as the blinds of the windows shuttered out the light of breaking day and the overhead ceiling lights remained switched off. The room, however, was saved from pitch blackness by the glaring lights of the television casting a bluish tinge over everything.

And if it hadn't been for the unwatched TV, she never would have noticed _him_.

His blond hair glistened fantastic variations of blue and every so often a shocking and startling silver. His head was tilted back against the sofa's armrest, his mouth only slightly open. He was still dressed in the dark blue scrubs he'd worn in NICU – but Cameron was only partially aware of this as she stood staring at his sleeping face.

It was funny. Despite their history, she had never really seen what he looked like as he slept. It was an unfathomable notion really, that after all the nights they had spent together; she had never really _seen_ him.

Now, standing there, listening to the small sounds of life that left his parted lips – the tiniest, barely detectable sound that oddly seemed to drown out the noise of the television behind; watching as his long lashes left traceable shadows across his face – she finally saw him.

Saw, yes, but the revelation was marred by incomprehension, and that sad fact was only reiterated as she made no step towards him and instead moved to turn off the TV with an almost deafening click.

It was funny how it was the silence that woke him. But Cameron paid him no mind as she turned on the lights and opened a cupboard in the small kitchen area. Finding a half used loaf of bread; she noisily opened a drawer to fish out a knife.

Meanwhile, behind her, Chase stirred awake with a yawn and a stretch. He had had a long shift in NICU and he surmised in his foggy half asleep state that he must have dozed off on his break. He squinted at the bright lights, surprised at the absence of the rays of sunlight that normally woke him, to instead be greeted by Cameron slamming the door of a kitchen cupboard.

He sat up a little straighter and watched as she, with her head resolutely down, knife buttering her toast, determinedly ignored him.

He wasn't surprised that she was doing so, but yet as strained as their relationship was, the eternal optimist in him couldn't help but hope there was another reason for this display.

He smiled as he stood up, watching the top of her head as he drew closer; stopping only until he had brushed up against the counter and could walk no further forward.

She had sensed he had moved towards her but was unprepared for the shock of the dark blue scrubs stark against the pale kitchen surface, and more unnerving yet, the light breath that left his lips and disturbed even the tiniest hairs on her head. She couldn't help but look up at him.

He was staring at her. His full head of hair in morning disarray, his blue eyes wide, watching her openly, intently – but not before they started twinkling with an emotion she couldn't quite peg. She didn't notice him swipe the toast off her plate until it had obscured the small smile on his lips.

She opened her mouth to object to his blatant thievery, but she found she had nothing to say as he smiled a little wider, and then without another word spoken, headed for the door and left.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The knock was hesitant and it wasn't until she had taken a deep calming breath that the knock grew in confidence.

She waited, back straightened, chin up, ready in waiting for whatever fate threw at her. Of course her new found courage would only falter at the very first hurdle as she could do nothing to tame her fingers from fiddling with the buttons on her coat, or even attempt to stop her heart from thundering in her ears.

Seconds seemed to drag to minutes until she finally heard the sliding of the door chain, the turn of the lock and then at last the door knob.

He only opened the door slightly, his head popping out just a fraction to stare down at her with only mild surprise and a sparkle of amusement, "If I had known you were _this_ keen, I would have suggested we skipped dinner altogether and headed straight for the-"

"I can't do this," Cuddy blurted.

House raised a single brow, "Can't do what?"

"I can't make it to dinner tonight."

House made a point of turning his wrist to stare down at his imaginary watch, "So you came all the way _here,_ to tell me that you can't make it all the way _back_ here, in the space of two hours?"

He couldn't quite tell if it was just her make up, but her blush seemed to be darkening by the second.

"Right," was all she said, as any other appropriate response seemed to fail her.

She waited with baited breath for whatever was to come next, but House managed to surprise her yet again.

He simply shrugged, "Ok."

Cuddy wasn't sure what to feel. Surely relief should have featured highly, but she couldn't quite shake the disappointment and offence at how little it appeared to affect him.

Numbly, she nodded back, "Ok."

She took one step back, consciously aware that his eyes were still firmly fixed upon her. But as she turned around, and perhaps it was because her senses always seemed to go into overdrive whenever she happened to be anywhere near him, she managed to pick up something that wasn't quite right.

She turned back around, and watched him curiously, "What's that smell?"

"What smell?" House asked, doing his best to look baffled.

"It smells like something's burning."

House smiled a fraction, "That would be your cheeks."

Cuddy scowled, but as realisation crept up on her that scowl made a seamless transition into an amused smile, "Were you actually cooking us dinner?"

House shifted slightly, "I was making myself dinner. I was gonna feed you yesterday's leftovers."

Cuddy would have grinned back up at him, seeing right through his lie, but House's next words cut such an event short;

"But you were leaving right?"

Guilt tore through her at his expression, but she could only nod in return, "Right."

She would have tried saying something else, tried to explain the colossus of feeling she was trying to sort through and contend with when it came to him and their undefined, hard to pin down, relationship, but she was given no second chance.

He had closed the door.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It had taken her less than half an hour to get home. On arrival she had proceeded to sit down on her living room couch and not move for the next half an hour. Everything around her had fallen to an almost deathly silence; the only noise being the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock which only served to expedite the process of her turning mad.

She was torn between damning all consequences, driving back down to his house, and letting things happen the way they may well have done years before if she'd only let her guard down just once more; or simply locking herself away and hiding from the enormous elephant that was her attraction to Gregory House.

Everything of course was made just that little bit harder by the minuscule and completely _irrelevant _fact that she was _pregnant_.

How that figured into things was anyone's guess.

The door bell that rang at just that moment startled her so that she very nearly jumped out of her skin. Cautious, as she ever was, she approached the door; but the surprise and uncertainty she had initially felt slowly changed with every step to a knowing certainty to who was on the other side of that door.

She unlocked it without even looking through the little peephole for confirmation as her confidence in her gut instinct had only increased a hundred fold since her last step, and she no longer had any doubt as to who it would be.

On opening the door she could do nothing to stop the smile that spread across her face. It was funny; the indecision and confusion that had plagued her the entire week, even in the final moments when she had plucked up the courage to knock on his front door earlier that night, had dissipated to leave not even a wisp of a trace. She had no idea what this was, and if any good would come of it – but for once in her life, she decided maybe it was best to leave the thinking for later.

"You honestly thought I'd let you out of this that easily?" he asked, before sidestepping past her into the hallway without waiting for an invitation; and truth be told, he hardly needed one.

"I brought dinner," he smiled turning around, holding up the paper bag in his hand.

Cuddy rather thought the more appropriate word would be 'bought,' but instead she said nothing; her smile saying far more than words ever could.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2: **I'm so excited I just got all three seasons of House on DVD! Yay! Ok, now that I've got that out of my system, hope you guys liked it and please leave me with your thoughts!

**SmilinStar **

**xxx**


	16. Chapter 16

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to:_ glicine, insanehouseaddict, Cheelalaucha, HippieWinterSweet, J Lesley, Critical Blues, Sappy13, disagd1, LordXwee, Merlynnod, Nerds United, AdeleParker, HolyMacaroni, Addicted1 and Mishelle20 _for the wonderful reviews. Also apologies for the long wait, and I hope you enjoy this chapter . . .

**.: Chapter Sixteen :.**

She stood by the door, swirling the sparkling lemonade in her wine glass, watching the scene before her with unabashed amusement.

He was washing up. Scrubbing brush in hand, copious amounts of washing up liquid and frothy white foam bubbling up the sides of the sink; it was quite a sight and she could do nothing to stop the short laugh from leaving her mouth.

House turned around only to give her a mock glare, "You know some would call it _rude_ getting your guest to do all the washing up, especially since _he bought dinner._"

Cuddy shrugged, "I didn't ask you to do it."

"True," House nodded a moment later, "But this way I can guilt you into letting me off clinic duty this week."

"Nice try."

"And there you go again; your evilness just knows no bounds, does it?"

Cuddy smiled, making no retort as she moved away from the kitchen door and towards the sink in front of the window. She came to a stop beside House, the length of her entire right arm brushing up against his side as she did. He made no instant acknowledgement of her presence, instead continuing to immerse a now entirely clean white plate once again in soapy suds. It didn't mean he wasn't aware she was there, if anything his senses were on full alert as the warmth of her body permeated through the fabric of his clothes, prickling his skin. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him, and the quick glance down at her, taking in the sight of the ghost of a smile on her lips made the answer to that question an unequivocal _yes._

She really was evil. And he loved it.

"You are so buying dinner next time," he said placing the plate into the drying rack, but not before reaching over such that his arm _had _to graze past her breasts. He smirked as she shifted, moving ever so slightly away.

"Next time?" she asked, "And who says there's going to be a next time?"

She was smiling up at him, but it was tentative and not nearly as confident as her tone would allow one to presume.

He caught her gaze and smiled, "Oh I just do," he said.

She had no retort to that, and her tenuous smile faltered as she took a step back and turned away towards the small breakfast table. House had finished with the washing; turning the taps off, he dried his hands on a tea towel and then turned around leaning against the kitchen cabinet, watching Cuddy fiddle with the hem of her top.

"So what now?" he asked.

Cuddy's startled blue eyes met his; "I mean we did the procrastinating, actually you did that, but anyway, we had dinner, we cleaned up, no wait, I did that . . ." he trailed off.

"We call it a night," Cuddy said, filling the silence.

House made no response to that statement.

Outwardly it was impossible to decipher what he was thinking. His expression remained impassive, but it was the resolve in his eyes that gave him away. It was always his eyes – but no one had yet to make that discovery, almost always too afraid to _really_ meet and hold his gaze; and Cuddy, tonight, was no exception.

She had stepped away from the doorway, but it was only so she could rest her near empty glass on the kitchen counter.

"I had fun," she said, looking up, but not quite enough to even accidentally catch his gaze.

She wasn't lying. She really had enjoyed herself. The meal had been great. House had been his usual, charming snarky self, and as much as she had enjoyed herself, it was only to be strained by an unyielding and achingly tangible tension that felt ready to suffocate her at any given moment.

They were both walking a dangerous line – so close to crossing over and she so very aware of that precarious chalk line slowly being rubbed away by the second.

There was no going back once that line was crossed. A sceptic may have argued that they had already crossed that line what felt like an age ago, and the repercussions had been woefully uninspired and unimpressive. Years had passed and the occasion had only been marked by witty banter, sexual innuendos, and frequent displays of the varying nuances to office politics and power struggles. What that one sceptic may never have realised, however, was those years that had passed since they had first crossed that line had done nothing if not draw them closer. So close in fact that _that _line had blurred and neither one of them could see it any longer.

"Me too," said House simply.

Cuddy nodded, smiling tightly before turning, presumably to walk House to the door.

She didn't have to go far to realise House had not followed her.

Turning back, she saw that he hadn't even moved from his spot in the kitchen.

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. Anything at all.

"House?"

He said nothing.

And there was that rising tension again – an amalgam of unspoken words, feelings and irrepressible yet still hopelessly denied longing.

"House?" she called out again.

And it seemed he had heard her this time.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Of all the people to stumble across in a deserted park at eight in the evening, entirely alone and unreceptive, _she _would never have sprung to mind.

"Cameron?" he called out.

There seemed to be a few minutes delay before she actually responded – if of course the pressing of her two lips in a thin narrow line could be construed a response.

"What are you doing out here?" Foreman asked, coming closer before stopping beside her.

She was seated on a park bench, her bag resting on her lap, just staring into space.

She shrugged, "Needed some air."

Foreman nodded his head, "Right," he drawled with all the right amounts incredulity and disbelief, "I would have thought two hours of fresh air would have been more than enough by now."

"So would've I," she muttered.

Foreman only raised his eyebrows at that.

It was obvious she was struggling with something. He could hazard several guesses and one of them would undoubtedly be right, but part of him just wanted to shrug it off, say goodnight and head home. He was tired and hungry, and really not very good at this whole colleague _and _friend thing.

He sighed heavily before sitting down beside her.

"Don't feel like you _have_ to stop and sit here and talk to me," she replied, frigid and terse.

Foreman raised his eyebrows, nodded his head and stood back up again, "Fine."

Cameron leant back against the seat and sighed, "I'm sorry – that was uncalled for."

Foreman sat back down again.

They sat in silence – the seconds ticking over.

"It would be so much easier to just talk to him," Foreman finally said, breaking the quiet that had seeped in around them. Despite the rustling of leaves on the trees, the sound of traffic on the nearby roads, everything appeared strangely still and calm.

Cameron turned to face him, the question plainly evident on her face.

"Chase," Foreman answered her, "Talk to him."

"Who said anything about Chase?"

Foreman laughed, "_Seriously?_"

And then she smiled, only a barely there tint of it, but the smile was there.

She nodded, and turned back out to gaze into the night.

Silence once again fell – comfortable and right.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It seemed she had finally found the courage to look up.

Blue on blue. Jarring, surreal and unexpected.

He was walking towards her now. Limping with his wooden cane, each step closer full and bursting with intent.

He rounded the table – only to stop right in front of her.

Towering and tall. Strong and steady. Yet unmistakeably fragile. An oxymoron, a puzzle, but that was his very definition.

And she knew.

Maybe she had known all along. Always known.

They'd been playing this game so long – stuck in a stalemate – it was inevitable that one of them would have eventually broken free.

She just hadn't expected it to be him.

"I'm pregnant."

She whispered the words. Two words that told them both why this was a bad idea. Why it would never work.

"I know," was his only reply.

And he did know.

Yet he kissed her anyway.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2: **Don't shoot!!! I realise this was a shorter chapter, but I felt it was right to end this chapter here. Please share your thoughts; I really appreciate every piece of feedback you give me. I'll try and have another chapter up soon but exams make life harder, I'll try though.

**SmilinStar **

**xxx**


	17. Chapter 17

**A Little Life Less Ordinary**

**Disclaimer: **House, M.D. does not belong to me. Please don't sue; all I have is a packet of spearmint chewing gum.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** House/Cuddy

**Summary: **"You're pregnant," he stated to the inside of her well stocked refrigerator, as if it were an unequivocal truth. It figured that House would work it out before her. Unashamedly House/Cuddy with everyone else thrown into the mix . . .

**Author's Note: **Just for clarification, this is set towards the end of season three, but I've taken a few liberties with the storyline as Foreman and Cameron have not resigned and Chase was not fired.

Thank you to:_ TVHollywoodDiva, J Lesley, LordXwee, AdeleParker, HolyMacaroni, C Elise, Casper1311, Kat the Kritic, Shikabane-Mai, BlkDiamond, Sappy13, glicine, xoRetributionox, Sokerchick, Merlynnod, Senator Elizabeth Organa, starkidtw, Nicole, Kerry-Aod, insanehouseaddict, Nerds United, kish32, Artemis-M and CRaZY TeDDy _for reviewing. You guys rock. Also, sorry for the delay – this chapter was a monster to write.

**Part Six**

_In which there is an impromptu declaration of love . . ._

**.: Chapter Seventeen :.**

House jabbed the elevator button with the bottom of his cane. The metal doors in front of him started to close as commanded.

Wilson, however, had other ideas; his hand managing to just squeeze past the closing doors and force it open. He stared at House, and House stared back. A small grin was playing on Wilson's lips, eager to make its presence known.

He stepped silently into the elevator and took up his position beside House.

House wordlessly jabbed the elevator button again with his cane, and the doors shut successfully this time.

"Staggered starts," Wilson finally spoke, "That's cute."

House's expression conveyed the state of 'confusion' vaguely well; "Drinking already Wilson?" he retorted, "That's not so cute."

Wilson brushed off House's remark, "I saw you and Cuddy drive in this morning. Nice of her to give you a ten minute head start," he said eyeing House's cane with little subtlety.

"I don't know what you're talking about. The Dean of Medicine simply saw one of her employees struggling down the sidewalk into work and just decided to fill her quota of ass-kissing for the day by asking said hobbling employee if he'd like a lift."

Wilson's grin grew wider, "You're smiling."

"And you're getting old."

"You're happy."

"And you need breath-mints."

"You so had sex with Cuddy last night."

But before Wilson could get his answer, the elevator doors opened and House limped out without another word, sporting a rather large grin that was thankfully free from Wilson's further scrutiny – the oncologist having been left behind to stare at his friend's disappearing back instead.

House just continued walking, only stopping to push open the glass door to the conference room. He marked his entrance with the jovially spoken words, "Good morning people!"

But it didn't stop there: "It's a lovely day; the sun is shining, the birds are thankfully not twittering and we have zero cases."

Chase and Foreman raised their eyebrows.

"It's raining," Foreman stated bluntly, jerking his thumb in the direction of the window and the miserably wet weather.

"So?" House retorted, before limping his way over to the other side of the room to make himself a coffee, which, he realised shortly, should have been made already. Turning around sharply, he pointedly stared at his _two_ fellows.

"Where's Cameron?"

Chase shrugged, "Don't know."

Foreman waved his hands, "Don't ask me."

House let it slide. For the moment, that was.

"So why are you guys still sat here?"

Both men looked up at him blankly.

"Either go home or do my clinic hours, there really isn't much point-"

"Yes there is," the words were spoken as she walked through the door.

Ten minutes were far quicker than he remembered.

House rolled his eyes for effect – the barest hint of a smile playing furtively on his lips, managing to escape under the radar.

"Dr Cuddy," He ground out between his teeth in an effort to appear somewhat more displeased than he actually was at her interruption, "Come to put a dampener on our celebrations like the party pooper you really are?"

He watched in stifled joy as she deliberately avoided his gaze, walked across the room and slid a patient file across the table. The red tinge to her cheek to any casual observer would have been pegged down to copious amounts of blusher – but House knew better. The only make up she was wearing was the lipstick she'd smeared on in a rush in the car this morning.

"You have a case," she stated to no one in particular.

"What case?" House asked, empty coffee mug in hand as he rounded the table to stand behind her, paying no mind to what others may have termed her 'personal space.'

"That case," Cuddy bit out. She was squirming and House was enjoying every minute of it.

"You know you should seriously consider getting laid?"

Chase's and Foreman's eyes classically bulged wide at the left field crudity; although it was arguable they really should have been used to it by now. Cuddy turned to face House, mouth open, also apparently caught off guard.

House simply shrugged, his eyes twinkling merrily, "You just seem a little highly strung, that's all."

He sensed the change in her before he had even seen the visual clues - though the sparkle in her blue eyes, and the glint of challenge was warmly welcomed. She didn't reward his statement with a response and instead brushed past him. It was a contact which could have been entirely avoided, and only led to the conclusion that she had done it deliberately. A warning – two could play at this game.

He watched her leave; an appreciative smile on his face and his eyes hopelessly fixed firmly on her ass.

He was a lost cause; and he could hardly care less.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"There's something going on with House and Cuddy," Chase said breaking the silence of the laboratory. It wasn't odd that he had chosen randomness over mundane pleasantries, those two being the only options available to colleagues when attempting to overcome awkward and unwanted silences. After all, in consideration of his long standing inability to even match his ties and shirts, it was no surprise that randomness had never been a stranger to Chase.

Foreman rolled his eyes, "You're not starting that up again are you?"

The blond intensivist moved away from the eyepiece of the microscope and shrugged, "What? You honestly didn't notice anything odd going on between them this morning?"

Foreman snorted, "Come on. They're always acting like five year olds around each other. If House wasn't yanking Cuddy's pigtails and she wasn't letting him chase her round in circles, then I'd be worried."

Chase shook his head with a ghost of a smirk on his face before looking back down the microscope at the liver biopsy they had just carried out for their patient.

"The liver's clean," Chase said.

Foreman nodded, "House was right."

That came as no surprise to either of them.

Foreman sat back further in his chair, arms folding across his chest, "So what about you and Cameron?"

"What about us?" Chase asked, not reacting to the bait.

For that, Foreman had to give him some credit, "There's something going on between you two and it's pretty damn obvious."

Chase leaned back in his seat, folded his arms across his chest, almost as if mimicking Foreman's position, "There's nothing going on."

Foreman shook his head and muttered, "You're as bad as House and Cuddy."

Chase sat up straight, "Excuse me?"

"I'll give you three guesses where Cameron is right now."

"What-"

But it seemed Foreman had lost all patience and so interrupting Chase before he'd barely got one word out of his shell shocked mouth, he gave him zero guesses,

"She's probably sat in her apartment – pining; like she did over House, and now over you."

Chase laughed. Faced with such a ludicrous assumption as that, there really was no other sane option but to laugh, "What?"

Foreman rolled his eyes, grabbed the test results from the printer before heading for the doors, "You guys are hopeless," he muttered before leaving an entirely bemused Chase behind him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You called?" House hollered into her office, his head poking through the door.

Cuddy looked up from her paperwork; pen now held precariously between two fingers, "No," she answered bluntly.

House shrugged, "Oh," was all he said, and then proceeded to invite himself in nevertheless.

Cuddy sat back in her chair, ready to protest, though the smile creeping up on her did nothing to substantiate the words, "Shouldn't you be working on your case?"

"I have Chase and Foreman running tests," he answered as she stood up and made her way over to the shelves, files in hand. His eyes never left her as he stalked closer.

"I'm sure they're done by now," Cuddy muttered into the books in front of her.

House sidled up to the bookcase, his arm casually resting on one of the shelves, his cane down by his side, and himself alarmingly close to Cuddy.

She knew she'd trapped herself the moment she had stood up and walked across the room. It would have been far safer to stay behind her desk; the dark wood would have given her at least a little protection.

She needed time to process things. Last night, well, last night had spiralled out of control, and she didn't know what to think.

But some part of her, she realised, was fervently rallying for the side that waved the banners demanding she damned the consequences and just let things be.

In the end, her inner struggle could only end with one victor, and it was easily and disappointingly predictable as the hint of the smile on her face vanished and she did her best to look up at him, her expression hardened.

"House-" she started with a tone that didn't particularly allure him. He decided to cut this conversation short. After all, he knew just exactly where it was heading.

"You're pregnant," he said.

Cuddy's mouth opened and shut again.

"I think we've established that already," House continued, "And no I don't think we need to discuss it, because no, it really doesn't bother me."

"But-"

She didn't have a chance in hell of retorting since he'd edged even closer if that were possible. His breath hot on her face, a smirk curving the edges of his mouth, "And so now we have that sorted, what say you to me, you and that sturdy looking desk over there?"

She could feel her cheeks burning up, the heat of his skin through even several layers of clothes, so close – and her resistance so hopelessly futile. One taste, last night, was all it had taken to shatter that resolve she had formed so many years before after their first time; and now with his lips finally on hers, recklessly teasing her, she wondered why she had ever bothered trying to resist.

After all, saying no to House had never been one of the strongest abilities in her repertoire.

"I'd say it'd be damn uncomfortable," she said against his lips, the abandoned smile once more surfacing.

He moved away ever so slightly, gave her a wicked smile of his own as his grip around her waist tightened and whispered, "True."

She wondered just how ridiculous a situation this was. She knew House had never really wanted to father a child. It would be hopeless to assume he would want to be a father to a child who wasn't even biologically his. She knew in her heart that she desperately wanted this to be something _real_, something tangible and meaningful, but the cruelness of reality echoed inside her head telling her that _that_ could never be a possibility.

And this, whatever _this _was, could only end in one way.

But as House pried her lips open with his tongue, his hands coming up to tangle in webs of her hair, she found herself succumbing with frightening ease, leaving time for only one last passing thought in her hazy brain. And that was that _this_, whatever it may be, maybe, just maybe, would be worth it.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** Apologies for the long wait. I'm afraid the next chapter might take a while as well since I have exams in January and learning the anatomy of the head and neck seriously sucks the muse dry. But then again, knowing me, the great procrastinator that I am, I might just find the time to write some more soon – either way, I'll try and have the next chapter up as soon as humanly possible!

Thanks again for reading and please let me know your thoughts,

**SmilinStar**

**xxx **


End file.
